


solkillerseeksak's febuwhump extravaganza

by blondsak, killerqueenwrites, S0lstice, seekrest



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (seeksak are involved okay), Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Febuwhump, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Other: See Story Notes, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, cannot emphasise enough this a collection of stories please check the notes for each chapter, individual warnings in each chapter notes, mostly happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/S0lstice/pseuds/S0lstice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: A month of whump-filled standalone stories brought to you by four Irondad authors who - you guessed it - love whump.or Febuwhump, Solkillerseeksak style.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 778
Kudos: 741





	1. mind control | broken bones | 'please come back'

**Author's Note:**

> ...surprise?
> 
> so, we've arranged the prompts in pairs or groups that go well together, and there will be a chapter by a different author every other day. enjoy!
> 
> ### Chapter by:
> 
> [killerqueenwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites)   
> 
> 
> ### Chapter summary:
> 
> “You’re late.”
> 
> Peter frowns at Mr Stark’s back. He’s always late, and it’s never a problem, because Mr Stark just laughs and checks he wasn’t injured on patrol. “I’m sorry.”
> 
> Mr Stark starts acting weird, and Peter can't figure out what's wrong.
> 
> ### warnings:
> 
> broken bones, torture (kind of), threat of death

“Hey!” Peter skids into the lab, sliding his backpack off his shoulder. Mr Stark doesn’t turn around. “Sorry, there was a thing—“

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, but there was some weird—robot thing. It had an angry face, Mr Stark, seriously, like a pissed-off cyborg—“

“If you can’t get here on time, don’t bother coming.”

Peter frowns at Mr Stark’s back. He’s always late, and it’s never a problem, because Mr Stark just laughs and checks he wasn’t injured on patrol. “I’m sorry.”

They sit in heavy silence until it’s time for Peter to leave. Mr Stark doesn’t say goodbye.

* * *

“Hey, kid!” Mr Stark calls when Peter slinks into the lab, stiff and sore from clumsily avoiding yet another humanoid robot. He’d destroyed it, but man, did he have to work for it. “You’re right on time. Quiet day out on the web?”

“Uhh…” Peter puts his bag down warily, sliding it under his desk. “Just—didn’t wanna be late.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you never have a good reason.”

“No, I know, it’s just—I don’t know.”

Mr Stark’s face dips into a frown for the briefest second before his usual friendly grin is back. “All right, well, you know where your desk is. Pizza sound good? I’m starving.”

“Yeah,” Peter manages, “sounds great.”

_What the hell?_

* * *

The next week, Peter’s still a little wary, not wanting to be caught off guard again, but Mr Stark is still normal, smiling and holding out a carton of lo mein.

“How did you know I’ve been craving this all day?”

“I know all, kid. And you always want noodles when you’ve been around that restaurant on the corner of Austin Street. Karen reminds me.”

Peter looks down to hide his smile. “You need to smell that place, Mr Stark. _So_ good. Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime, kid. So, how goes it on the other side of the East River?”

“So I told you about the weird robot things, right?”

“The what?”

Peter tries to ignore the sick swooping in his stomach. “I’m sure I told you. A couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Mr Stark frowns. “Sorry, kid, I must’ve been miles away.”

“You were kinda distracted,” Peter agrees. “But i've seen a couple since then and—I don’t know, it’s weird. They kinda remind me of your suits.”

That makes Mr Stark sit up straight, eyes narrowing. “How similar? Are you sure there’s no one inside them?”

“Pretty sure, I never hear a heartbeat—Karen, can you pull up the video you got of all those droidy things?”

_“Accessing the Baby Monitor footage.”_

“Every time.”

* * *

The instant Peter steps into the lab, he freezes. The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

_Danger._

“On time, are you?” Mr Stark says brusquely, appearing from around the corner. 

“Uh, yes—I—“

“Then make yourself useful, and stay out of my way.”

Peter steps towards his desk, every inch of him on edge, waiting for a threat to appear. But nothing happens. The only other sound in the room is—Mr Stark. 

But that can’t be right. Can it?

The door behind him opens, and he jumps about a foot in the air.

“Whoa, easy!” Rhodey says. “Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack, kid.”

“Sorry!” Peter manages. “Sorry, Mr Rhodey.”

“Everything okay?”

“Good. Good, um—Mr Stark, I’m sorry, but I just remembered I have a project that I need to do, so can I—can I come back another day?”

“Can you?”

“Um…” Peter looks at Rhodey for help, but he looks equally thrown. “Yeah, I need to go.”

Hw grabs his backpack and leaves, almost running in his haste to get away. The uneasy feeling fades the second he steps out of the door.

The last thing he hears before the door slides closed is Rhodey, hot anger in his voice, saying, “So you’re taking whatever this is out on Peter now too? What the hell, Tony? You love that kid.”

* * *

Peter actually has to steel himself to go back the next day, which is— _wrong_. Yeah. Going to the Tower used to be the highlight of his week, and now he’s either walking on eggshells or—no, even when Mr Stark is normal, it still puts him on edge.

He’s lost in thought, trying to ignore the sick unease twisting his stomach into a knot, when he slams his shoulder into someone going the other direction. “Sorry! Oh—hey, Mr Rhodes. Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right, kid, I wasn’t looking. Just—distracted.” Rhodey sighs.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, Tony’s being an asshole. Again.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I wouldn’t—maybe don’t go up there right now. He’s pushing everyone away, and until we figure out what’s going on, I don’t think you should put yourself in his firing line.”

Peter almost sags in relief. “Yeah, if—if you think so. I just seem to piss him off when he’s like this, so…”

“Don’t take it personally, kid.” Rhodey claps him on the shoulder, but his eyes are far away. “You need a ride home?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Hey, your little AI has my number, right?”

Peter takes a minute to think. “Yeah. Why?”

Rhodey presses his lips together. “If something happens while you’re, you know, out and about, call me.”

“Oh.” The thought that Mr Stark would ignore him if he needed help—Peter swallows. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Look, he’s done something like this before, and it turned out okay, but maybe—keep yourself clear for a while, yeah?”

“Yeah.” That’s all he’s capable of saying, apparently.

Rhodey sighs again. “Take care, kid.”

* * *

“Hey, kid!”

Peter hovers in the doorway. It seems like a good day, but what if a switch just flips? After talking to Rhodey last week, he’s even more wary than before.

“Pete?”

He jumps. Mr Stark is staring at him. “Sorry?”

“You okay?”

“Fine. Good.”

“Okay…” Mr Stark says slowly. “You seem kinda distracted, kid. Jumpy. Oh—I did some digging on your robots. Karen got some good shots of them. You were right, they’re definitely freaky.”

“Oh. Yeah. Haven’t seen them for a while, actually. Maybe I scared them off.”

“Maybe.” Mr Stark grins and reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Peter tenses as he does.

Why? What’s wrong with him? It’s Mr Stark. 

The man doesn’t notice his flinch, just keeps talking. “They’re almost like a theatre mask, right? Phantom of the Opera shit.”

Peter shakes himself, tries to smile. “The Phantom only covers half his face, Mr Stark, come on. Aren’t rich people supposed to be cultured?”

“Ooh, careful. Anchovies might find their way onto your pizza.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Mr Stark points a screwdriver at him and smirks. “I demand respect from my favourite intern.”

“Aw, I’m your favourite?” Peter lets himself relax. This is normal. Everything’s fine.

Isn’t it?

* * *

FRIDAY doesn’t greet Peter when he enters the Tower, but she’s been down for updates before, so he shrugs it off and uses the buttons in the elevator. Something is swirling in his stomach, but then it always is nowadays. Is Mr Stark going to be himself, or grumpy for no reason?

He steps into the lab and drops his backpack on the ground. Mr Stark is standing by his desk, watching him approach.

Buzzing at the base of his skull. _Danger danger danger—_

“Uh, Mr Stark?”

“Peter.”

A cold chill races up Peter’s spine, matching the crawling on the back of his neck. Mr Stark never calls him that. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect, finally. Except for one thing.”

Out of nowhere, a panel opens in the wall and a suit shoots out, heading straight for Peter; it slams him into the ground so hard he’s knocked breathless, and grabs his wrists, pins them to the floor.

“What the hell—?”

“Stark is stronger than I thought; he saw me coming, and locked himself out of his own systems. Now you’re here, I need you to get me in.”

This isn’t Mr Stark. Peter isn’t sure that makes him feel better, especially when they can control the suits. “I—I’m just an intern. I don’t know, like, resets or passwords or anything.”

“Just an intern?” Mr Stark repeats. It’s his voice, but there’s something different about it, something wrong. “I’ve been breaking down Stark for weeks now, and he was hiding something the whole time. Not his best friend, not his fiancée—but you. So, Just An Intern, remind me how to get back into the servers.”

“I don’t know,” Peter insists. He’s never felt as vulnerable as he does now, pinned on his back by an Iron Man suit while a man wearing his mentor’s body monologues at him.

“Don’t lie. Why are you his secret most worth keeping?”

“Maybe because if any crazies ever figured out he has an intern, they’d pull some shit like this.”

“All I need are two things, Peter: the specs for his suits and the identity of Spider-Man. To get them, I need access to the systems.”

_Oh, yeah, that’s so much worse._ Peter bucks, arches his back to try and get free, but the suit is strong, stronger than he’s ever comprehended, because it’s never been used on him.

“Come on, Peter,” Mr Stark says in that same smooth voice. “I could hack into the servers eventually, given enough time—I am a genius. One thing I am not, however, is patient. So.”

“No,” Peter forces out. “No way.”

“Shame.” The suit twists one hand, and Peter feels his wrist give way, and then—

He howls, the sound ripping out of his throat, and the suit keeps his broken wrist pinned against the floor as he writhes and screams before swallowing the pain down into gasping sobs.

“Has that changed your position at all?”

_Breathe through the pain,_ Mr Stark’s voice murmurs. 

“I asked you a question, Peter.” 

The suit squeezes, grinding broken ends of bone together, and Peter cries out. It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears.

“Imagine what it’s doing to your poor mentor, having to watch this. You don’t have to be so stubborn.”

_Mr Stark_. Peter does his best to relax in the suit’s grip, trying to lull it—or not-Mr Stark—into a false sense of security.

“Come on. Just a few taps, and you can go and forget this ever happened. Well, until I announce what I—or Tony Stark, I should say—has planned. Forget about Stark, and Spider-Man. I have lines I don’t cross, you know, and you are just a child—“

Peter jerks his knees up and throws his legs against the suit’s chest plate. It crumples, but there’s no one inside to feel the impact, and Mr Stark says, “No,” and the suit slams its knee down on his thigh.

It doesn’t snap this time, but _crunches_ , a deep, sickening sound that brings bile to Peter’s throat. 

“Well,” not-Mr Stark says, “that’s interesting.”

Peter’s leg throbs. He bites back a whimper. 

“How strong are you, huh? What are you? Enhanced? That’s why Stark kept you around? And— _oh._ Oh, I see.” Mr Stark’s face cracks into a smile that isn’t his. “Hello, Spider-Man. No wonder he tried so hard to hide you.”

“That’s not—I’m not—“ Peter tries to move, but even that sends agony searing down his leg. The suit could let him go and he’d be just as trapped, just as useless. “Shit!”

“Language, kid.” He sounds so much like Mr Stark; Peter wants to cry. “I assume you have accelerated healing, so let’s get this over with before your bones set wrong. Retrieve the Iron Man suit specs, and in return, your death will be quick and painless. Or I can get the specs myself, but you will regret it.”

“You won’t find them.” FRIDAY might have already fled into the Internet servers. Even if she hasn’t, this guy can’t get in unless he’s actually Mr Stark, but he’s not.

“Well,” not-Mr Stark says with a shrug, “looks like I just have to kill you. You may be a child, but you’ve interfered one too many times, Spider-Man. Without you getting in their way, and with Stark-spec upgrades, my Doombots will be the strongest they’ve ever been.”

“You,” Peter forces out through gritted teeth. “The robots.”

“Me,” Mr Stark says with a smirk that looks wrong on his face. “I suppose I have to thank you for exposing their weaknesses so efficiently, but now you’re just an annoyance.”

The suit lets go and and stands up, moving stiffly where Peter had crushed the metal. He tries to sit up, leaning on his good hand and biting his lip when he jostles his broken leg.

It’s _broken_. He can’t walk. He can’t fight.

“And I’m not usually so hands-on, but—well, I think Stark is really going to enjoy this.” Usually, Mr Stark would tap his watch and pull the gauntlet over his hand, but now it flows out without prompting. “Nice bit of tech, isn’t it? Handy when there’s a bug you need to exterminate.”

Mr Stark’s still in there somewhere. Peter shuffles backwards, his leg dragging uselessly, until his back hits the lab wall. “Mr Stark.”

“Oh, he’s in here,” not-Mr Stark says, “enjoying the show.”

He tenses, clenches his fists. “Mr Stark, please—“

“Peter, you don’t want to fight me, do you?” Not-Mr Stark stalks forward, each step slow and deliberate, until he’s looming over Peter. “You don’t want to hurt Tony.”

No. No, that’s still Mr Stark’s body, and if Peter lashes out with even a fraction of his strength, he could do irreversible damage. “Mr Stark,” Peter whispers. Begging. He’s begging. But if he doesn’t, he might actually die. “Mr Stark, don’t—don’t let him—“

“He doesn’t get to _let_ me do anything.”

The gauntlet is raised until it’s pointed straight at his head. Against Peter’s will, a tear slips down his cheek. “Come back, Mr Stark. Please come back.”

“I told you—“ Not-Mr Stark stops, his expression contorting into something furious. “No.” He staggers back a step, almost hits the stationary suit. “No!”

Peter watches, frozen, unable to react. If he could just reach his backpack, his phone…

Mr Stark folds at the waist, hands clutching his head, a frustrated groan building in his throat, louder and louder until it stops. The silence is worse.

But then he looks up, right at Peter, and it’s _him_. “Shit,” Mr Stark gasps. “Shit—Peter—you need to run, right the hell now, get out of here—I’ll seal the lab, but you gotta get out, kid.”

“I can’t,” Peter says quietly. He wonders what he looks like, cowering against the wall, one wrist hanging useless, the opposite leg twisted, outstretched, immobile. 

Pain flashes across Mr Stark’s face. “Where’s your phone? Call Rhodey. He’ll come get you.”

“In my backpack.”

Mr Stark retracts the gauntlet and picks up the backpack, but Peter can’t stop a flinch when he moves towards him. 

This is Mr Stark. Him. Not the other one.

“I don’t know how long I have, kid. This guy’s strong—he might come back. He can control everything, all my tech, just by thinking about it. That’s why I shut FRIDAY down. Jesus.” Mr Stark sets the backpack down and leans closer, staring at Peter’s broken wrist. “That’s already swelling. Rhodey or Happy will get you upstate and someone can look at it. If he comes back—you need to fight him, kid, okay?”

“I don’t want to hurt you—“

“I don’t want to watch him hurt you. I can’t do that.” Mr Stark reaches a hand out, hesitant, as if he expects Peter to shy away, and gently cups his cheek, swipes away a stray tear. 

Peter reaches into his bag, searching for the familiar shape of his phone, but his fingers land on something else just as Mr Stark chokes out, “No!” and his eyes change, suddenly blazing with fury.

“You little shit,” not-Mr Stark snarls. The grip on Peter’s jaw turns painful. “Killing you would be too merciful.”

Peter grits his teeth, braces against the pain, kicks out with his good leg. Not-Mr Stark stumbles backwards, all the way to a workbench, and Peter pulls his webshooter out of his backpack and fires.

“What—?” The man looks down at his hand, trapped in web fluid. “Get me out of this.”

Peter fires another stream of webs, securing the suit’s feet to the ground, and another to cover its repulsors, while his other hand finally, finally lands on his phone. He opens it and goes straight to his recent calls, frantically pressing Happy’s name.

_“Kid, we’re kind of in the middle of something. Stay in Queens.”_

“I’m in the Tower,” Peter says.

_“What? Shit! Rhodey? Rhodey! We gotta go! Where are you? Have you seen Tony?”_

“I’m in the lab. Mr Stark…” Peter trails off. “Please hurry.”

_“Rhodey’s almost there, okay? He’s in the suit. FRIDAY’s been down all afternoon, but we didn’t know what was going on.”_

Repulsors sound in the distance. Peter clutches the phone tighter. 

“Hang tight, kid,” Happy says, and the window shatters.

War Machine lands feet away from not-Mr Stark, who flinches back and raises his free hand. “Rhodes—“

Rhodey punches him in the face. Peter jumps at the impact, and not-Mr Stark crumples, held up only by the webbing that’s keeping his hand trapped on the workbench. The Iron Man suit shuts down. 

“Kid, you okay?” Rhodey flips his faceplate back. “Shit. You’re not okay. What happened?”

“Mr Stark—it wasn’t him!” Peter blurts when Rhodey’s face goes taut with rage. “It wasn’t, there was someone, like, controlling him.”

“Explains a lot about the last few weeks,” Rhodey mutters and kneels beside him. “I don’t want to fly you, so can you wait for Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Rhodey blows out a long breath. “Okay.”

Peter, adrenaline still pumping with nowhere to go, his wrist and leg suddenly surging with pain, decides now would be a good enough time to tap out. So that’s what he does.

* * *

“Is he…?”

“Looks like it. Taking his time, though.”

“Hey, honey.” Someone squeezes his hand. “There you are.”

Peter peels open one eye, swallows. “May?”

“Right here.” Her face swims into focus. “You were out for about twelve hours. They had to reset your bones—they started healing wrong—but you’re gonna be fine.”

Peter blinks, and notices Happy standing by the door. “Hey.”

“Hey, kid. Gave Rhodey a damn heart attack, passing out like that.”

“Sorry.” Peter looks around again, searching for the person that’s only notable by his absence. “Where’s Mr Stark?”

Happy shifts on his feet. “He’s locked in a room.”

“Locked in a room?”

“His idea. He says he can’t tell if that—the other guy is really gone, even though Rhodey’s cognitive recalibration seems to have worked. So, he’s staying there.”

“Can I see him?” Peter tries to sit up, but his wrist feels stiff and unyielding, and his leg won’t bend. “Oh.”

“They’re coming off tomorrow,” May says, staring at the casts with a strange expression. “In the meantime, we need to feed you up.”

“I want to see him,” Peter insists. “If my danger sense doesn’t go off, then we know. If it does…”

May and Happy share a look.

“All right,” May says finally, “but you’re going in a wheelchair, Mister.”

“Fine.”

* * *

“Rhodey, I told you, I’m serious about this.” Mr Stark turns. “Don’t open that door unless—kid.”

“Hey,” Peter says, and wheels himself further into the room. Nothing. Not even a flash of nerves. “I think you’re good.”

“I’m good? How am I good?”

“No spider sense.”

Mr Stark’s face tightens. “It was going off around me?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ.” His eyes bounce everywhere—from Peter’s cast leg to his wrist to his jaw, still painted with the shadow of bruising fingers—never seeming able to stay in one place too long. He doesn’t move closer, keeps his distance. “Why didn’t you fight back, kid?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you—“

“That wasn’t me,” Mr Stark says sharply.

“But it kinda was.”

“So I had to watch my own suit hurt you instead? I had to watch myself nearly kill you?”

“I…” Peter trails off. “It was still your body. I could’ve done serious damage, and that’s—no.”

“Okay, so that’s your _no_. Can I tell you my _no_?” Mr Stark gestures to him. “This. This is my _no_. Your femur was broken in three places within five inches. It was crushed. Do you know how much force that would have taken?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Not funny.”

Peter winces, searches desperately for a change of subject. “Do you know who did this?”

“According to SHIELD, some guy called Victor von Doom.”

“Von Doom?” Peter repeats. “That—that’s his _name_? He was a bad guy waiting to happen.”

“Well, he’s published a few papers. Quantum physics, that kinda thing. And he is a technopath.”

“That’s how he controlled the suit,” Peter murmurs. “And he was the one making freaky robots, right?”

“Yep. He wanted some Doombot-Iron Man babies. Hence the unscheduled intrusion into my brain. Another one of his powers, by all accounts.” Mr Stark glances at Peter’s leg before looking away again.

“These are going to heal in, like, a day.”

“Not the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“I know—as in, I am excruciatingly aware—that you’ve had worse, but that was my suit. The person who did it was wearing my face.” Mr Stark’s expression cycles through a world of emotions before it settles on resigned. “You can keep your internship, and all of it can be done on the web now. No need for contact time unless it’s an emergency—“

“What are you talking about?”

Mr Stark frowns like Peter’s missing something obvious. “I’m making it so you don’t have to see me anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why? I nearly got you killed. Locked the guy out, pissed him off, and let you wander right into his firing line. I’m surprised your aunt hasn’t been in here already.”

“‘Cause she knows it wasn’t your fault,” Peter says firmly. “And this guy’s gone, right? He can’t get to you again.”

“Secure confinement on the Raft.”

“Well, then.”

“Well, then what?”

“That seems sorted.”

“I’m not following, Webs.”

Nicknames are always good. “So I’ll see you on Friday, right? And can it be Thai this time?”

“…you want to come back.” Mr Stark finally crosses the distance between them, peering into Peter’s eyes. “Are you concussed? What painkillers have they got you on?”

“Good ones, but that’s not the point.” Peter takes a deep breath. “I’m not, like, frightened of you. I was scared of him, even if I didn’t know I was because it’s more of a generalised anxiety kinda thing, but still—I don’t blame you, I’m not scared of you, and you can give up on trying to push us all away because it’s not going to work. Okay?”

Mr Stark stares at him for a long moment, and Peter wonders if he’s gone too far, but then a smile quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Usual Thai order, then. Extra pancake rolls for my favourite intern.”

“I’m your only intern.”

“But imagine if you weren’t my favourite.” Mr Stark reaches out and ruffles Peter’s hair, a little more tentative than usual, but it’s a start. “Now, you probably need to get back in bed and I definitely need coffee, so let’s get out of this room. And order food. Burgers all around? Fri?”

Silence.

“Dammit, I forgot…” Mr Stark sighs. “So, favourite intern, how about I try and unhiberbate my AI, and you order off Deliveroo like—“

“A normal person?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Yeah, this—this is normal.


	2. Poisoning | Hallucination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seek here for day 2! Buckle in!
> 
> **see end notes for warnings**

“I don’t feel so good.”

Peter leans back against the couch. It’s soft, though Peter can’t remember when it was ever brought in since the last time he was in this particular lab, it was under renovation. 

His body feels tense, achy and a little tingly-- sudden in a way that surprises him as he blinks up at the ceiling-- his chest on fire like he has heart burn even if he hasn’t had anything remotely close to that sensation since he got bit. 

“You okay, Pete?” He hears Tony say, opening his eyes and watching as Tony puts the screwdriver he has in his hand down, looking back at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Peter says, “Just really feel like shit today. I don’t know.” 

He looks up and around the lab once more, trying to think of what could have possibly caused it. But when Peter tries to think about his day, his mind goes blank-- as if there’s a dark spot in his memory for how he got here. 

He has to be in the Compound since he’s here in Tony’s lab, wincing less from the pain he feels in his chest and more from the memory of how May had looked when she found out the truth of what Peter was getting into. 

Things had gotten relatively better in the year and a half since then, especially since May not only actually allowed him to have an “official” internship with SI but was okay with these weekend trips to the Compound where he could do performance upgrades on his suit and shoot the shit with Tony in a way that still made him want to pinch himself. 

It was something he and Ned talked about _endlessly_ , whispering to each other in the lunchroom only for MJ to side glance them long enough for Peter to quickly shut them up. Peter couldn’t help it, just as Ned couldn’t-- the fact that he got to work in the same lab as _Iron Man_ being something Peter wasn’t sure he was ever going to get over. 

After his homecoming date from hell and turning down a spot in the Avengers, Peter wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to Tony but be it because he returned the suit-- or whatever conversation he had with May-- Tony had taken a more hands-on approach in the months since, to the point where Peter felt comfortable and at home in the labs and around him. 

There’s something just in the back of his mind, a vague whisper that he’s missing something. 

“ _Please_ tell me you are not hiding some kind of deep, gaping knife wound and are currently bleeding on out on my very new, very expensive couch,” Tony says lightly, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. 

“You can afford stain remover, I don’t know why you care,” Peter says with a grin, the unease in the pit of his stomach building and the burning sensation in his chest growing slowly. 

“You didn’t answer the question.” 

“ _No,_ I am not hiding anything,” Peter says, gingerly sitting up and testing the waters. He doesn’t feel as dizzy as he did a few minutes ago, even if the burning sensation is starting to get worse. “Just feel weird.” 

“Weird like you ate ramen off the floor or weird like you’re insides want to come out?”

“That was _one_ time,” Peter bemoans, Tony just raising an eyebrow as Peter continues, “That you know of, at least.” 

“Please spare me the stories of your teenage angst,” Tony jokes, Peter smirking at him as he leans his head back, “and please, for the sake of my heart condition, tell me if you’re actively dying?”

He gestures between the two of them as he says, “Not that I don’t look forward to this little back and forth we got going on but May and I have had a good streak lately and I’d hate to mess it up with you passing out on my couch from blood loss.”

“ _Not bleeding_ ,” Peter clarifies once again, wincing as he runs a hand over his chest-- his right arm throbbing in pain as he says. “At least not externally.”

Tony makes a strangled noise, Peter smirking as Tony finally says, “FRI, you mind running a scan on the grubby little hermit in my lab?” 

“Of course, boss,” FRIDAY’s voice rings out, Peter playfully rolling his eyes as something itches in the back of his mind. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Peter says, “It’s really not a big deal. I got a building dropped on me, remember? I’ve lived through worse.” 

“I mention my heart condition to you and you immediately jump back to what gave me my last ulcer,” Tony says impassively, motioning his hand to throw the overlay on his desk of Peter’s vitals up in the air as Peter shrugs— only to wince when he does so.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. It kinda feels like heartburn?” Peter says, even if the itch in the back of his mind is telling him that it’s _not_ heartburn-- tingles running up and down his right arm now as he looks around the lab once more. 

The lab looks relatively dark, Peter frowning now that he’s really getting the chance to look at it. He thought it’d been more lit up than what it is currently, only for his frown to deepen when he realizes that he can’t even remember if the lab _was_ brighter. It’s as if the only displays that are up are the ones right in front of Tony, Peter turning his attention back to him.

Tony is making the same face he always does when he’s concentrated, pursing his lips and tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his legs as he studies the readout in front of him. Peter can’t really tell what it’s saying from this angle, moving to stand only to realize he can’t-- a tightness in his chest that makes it feel like there’s a weight attached to him when Tony’s eyes drift back to him.

“Pete?”

“I’m--” Peter begins, unsure of how to even describe the sensation that he’s feeling right now. It’s as if he’s rooted in place, legs planted on the floor and his back against the couch-- his right arm throbbing in so much pain that he can’t even move it as he clears his throat, “I can’t move.”

Peter looks down to his arm, frowning as he tries to wiggle his fingers and finds that he can’t-- panic starting to build as he takes a breath, the pressure building when he hears Tony say, “I don’t think you can, bud.”

Peter looks back up to him, frowning as his eyes dart between the readout that Tony is no longer looking at and Tony himself— his eyes almost looking sad as he smiles. 

“What-- I don’t--”

“It’s happening now,” Tony says in an odd voice, calm and more measured than Peter has ever heard him speak before, “We hoped that this would be kinder for you, a place and conversation pulled from your memories. Unfortunately, it seems our time is running short.”

“Our time? I don’t-- I don’t understand…” Peter stammers out, only to throw his head back when he feels something that he can only describe as lightning sparking across his chest, white-hot blinding pain that makes him want to scream as he tenses, gritting his teeth as his breaths quicken.

“I am very sorry, Peter. We hoped it could be longer and have tried very hard to make this moment peaceful for you,” Tony says, Peter gasping when the pain doesn’t necessarily subside so much as lessen slightly-- Tony smiling warmly at him. 

“There. Is that better?”

Peter wheezes, scared now as he asks, “Who are you?”

Tony-- or not Tony as it is-- doesn’t answer, only smiling sadly and asking instead, “What do you remember?”

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Remember? I don’t--”

_Pete? Kid-- can you-- can you hear me?_

It stops him cold, hearing that voice echoing in the background-- distant and fuzzy as he looks around the lab, the room now dark save for the light cast on Tony-- the display and the lab desk gone as Tony moves into a stand.

He walks towards Peter, completely unthreatening and with a gentle smile on his face-- kneeling down in front of him as Peter feels the pressure building in his chest, his whole body now feeling like it was on fire. 

_Peter don’t-- come on, kid. Come on. Just stay-- stay with us okay?_

“Would it be better for you, if we changed our form?”

“Better for what?” Peter wheezes out, even if there’s a feeling building in his gut that tells him that he knows, the look in the not-Tony’s eyes confirming it for him as he nods.

“I think you know,” not-Tony says, Peter feeling tears spring up in his eyes as he tries to swallow the lump down in his throat. 

It comes easily to him now-- the day that he’s had. Waking up late, hugging May goodbye before rushing off to Midtown. He remembers boarding the bus with Ned, remembers the excitement he felt about going to MoMa and the flutter in his gut at seeing MJ staring at him-- remembers the prickle of unease and his hair standing up on his arm when a donut looking ship came in from the sky.

He remembers everything now-- traveling through space, fighting Thanos on some dusty planet, turning to dust in Tony’s arms only for it to feel as if he closed his eyes and opened them again-- Doctor Strange telling him five years have passed and that they needed help.

He remembers the battle, remembers holding the gauntlet-- remembers looking up into the sky when something shot through the atmosphere and destroyed Thanos’ ship-- looking down to the gauntlet in his hands and thinking that they couldn’t afford to lose this time around, that Peter hadn’t been quick enough to get the gauntlet off of Thanos on Titan but he could do it now-- he could put an end to everything before it gets worse.

Peter remembers slipping on the gauntlet, a blinding pain traveling up and down his arm and his chest-- thinking of eliminating Thanos and armies as he snapped his fingers.

He looks up to the not-Tony, letting out a shaky breath as he says, “Am I dead?”

“Not yet,” not-Tony says kindly, the room transforming from the lab into a space that takes on a soft orange hue-- Peter now propped up against the wall of something that he could only describe as a gazebo as he looks around, the gazebo situated in the middle of a lake. “Though there’s not much time now.”

_Pete? Peter, come on. Come on, kid. Look at me. Just-- just look at me. Hold on okay? Hold on-- just--_

“What’s-- why did you--” Peter rasps out, knowing now that he’s hearing the _real_ Tony call out to him-- a feeling in his gut that knows he won’t be able to answer him. 

“You are a brave Soul, Peter Benjamin Parker,” not-Tony says, smiling as he presses a hand to his knees. “We have seen many try and fail to wield us. The ones who succeed are not always as good as you are.” 

“I’m not-- I’m not good,” Peter says with a sob, thinking inexplicably of everything he regrets only to inhale sharply when he blinks and not-Tony changes immediately to Ben-- searching the eyes of a man he hasn’t seen in years as he smiles.

“Because of the death of your uncle? Benjamin Franklin Parker does not hold his death against you. Neither should you,” not-Ben says, Peter feeling tears streak down his cheek as not-Ben brings a hand to his face.

“Will it hurt?” Peter asks, closing his eyes and scrunching them in pain-- only to open them and to see May smiling at him, her thumb brushing against his cheek. 

“For you Peter Benjamin Parker, it will feel as if you’re falling asleep,” not-May says, Peter’s chin trembling as he closes his eyes-- knowing it isn’t May that’s leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead but taking the gesture as if it was.

Peter opens his eyes, not-May transforming back to not-Tony as he brings his hand down, smiling gently at him as he asks, “Where would you like to go?” 

Peter knows without it clarifying that it’s asking where he wants to spend his last moments, in another hallucination as the radiation from the stones infiltrates his bloodstream. He’s tempted for a second before shaking his head, clearing his throat as he says, “I want-- I want to say goodbye.” 

“If you wish,” not-Tony says, “Though it will not be as gentle.” 

“It’s o--okay,” Peter wheezes out, not-Tony smiling warmly at him as the world around him shimmers, focusing on not-Tony’s eyes and not the fear that’s threatening to swallow him whole.

He closes his eyes and leans back, feeling the tears stream down his face.

“I’m ready.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: **Major Character Death**
> 
> I mean, you can believe it’s ambiguous if you’d like. But you know, it’s me.
> 
> :)


	3. Hiding injury | 'I'm sorry, I didn't know'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony discovers a trail of bloody handprints going across his workshop ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My turn up at bat! For convenience's sake, let's all assume for this chapter that Tony has bought back and is currently using the Tower. Enjoy!
> 
> <3 Solstice
> 
> (No major warnings apply for this chapter)

Tony’s hands were dark with grease, smudges decorating his forearms and staining his t-shirt. The Rolling Stones were rolling - loud enough that his own voice could barely be heard when he chose to sing along. What he _could_ hear underneath Paint It Black was Pepper’s voice in the back of his mind reminding him that _this is how you get tinnitus_ , but he chose to let that bit of truth stay in his ‘to be dealt with another day’ folder. 

Because Tony was in a good place. He was in the zone and his zone needed its soundtrack. The workshop doors were wide open, and laid out in purposeful sections before him was the Ironman suit. Not the current model that he wore to fight the baddies and impress the public, no this was _The_ Ironman suit. The first suit he built after returning from Afghanistan. The first suit he ever flew in. 

Many of Tony’s marked suits had been tossed into storage, scrapped, even melted down over the years as he strove for perfection, but not this one. This one he kept, displayed, and twice a year took apart in order to give it a tune up and keep it in working order. He expected he’d never have any need to step foot in it again (he likely wouldn’t want to even if he needed to, given how clunky and uncomfortable it was in comparison to his more current models), but it just felt good to have it in working condition. It felt right. Just as the arc reactor Pepper lovingly displayed was proof that Tony had a heart, this first suit was proof that he was making good on his silent promise to both Yinsen and himself. He wasn’t wasting his life. He was doing good things with it and it had all started with this suit. 

Of course it didn’t look like much as it was now - spread over his workstation in pieces, limbs disconnected at the joints, outer armor smudged with almost as much grease as his hands. But it was all part of the process and when he was done it would be in better condition than ever. 

There was a pause in the music as Paint It Black ended and he used the lull to breathe deep, straightening his back from its hunched over position. His stomach tried to gain his attention with a small gurgle but he paid it no mind, having already planned to skip dinner that night. 

He was stretching his arms behind his back when his eyes landed on a small droplet of dark liquid several feet away from him on the tabletop. He leaned closer and then rose from his stool, brow furrowing when he realized that it was fresh blood. He dabbed his nose to see if it had spontaneously begun bleeding but other than the grease already staining them, his fingers came away clean. A glance around revealed another crimson drop at the very edge of the table, then two more on the floor in between the table and a nearby tool cart. 

He was supposed to be alone. He certainly had been for the last hour, and a cursory scan of the room showed that by all appearances he still was. He looked above him next, irrationally half-expecting to see a dead body hanging over him. The lighting wasn’t exactly conducive to ceiling inspections, but he could see well enough to confirm that there were no bodies up there, dead or otherwise. 

That left… he didn’t know what that left. The music had started up again, blanketing the sound of his breathing with drums and guitars. He took a few steps toward the open door and found a small splatter of blood just inside the threshold. 

A new suspicion began to form in his mind, one that left him confused and more than a little concerned. 

“FRI, light the ceiling for me,” he said, just barely loud enough for her to hear him over the music. He stared upward once more as his AI adjusted the lighting and within seconds he found what he was looking for - little fingertip-sized smudges and smears in bright red traveling the length of the ceiling. Even a few full on handprints here and there. 

“Cut the music.” 

As the room went quiet he caught what sounded like the tail end of a gasp, followed by the metallic clatter of a tool hitting the tiled floor. Tony spun toward the noise. 

“...Peter?” he called tentatively. A few seconds went by with no response and he let out a tired sigh despite the nerves rattling around in his chest. “Kid.”

He crossed the room to where he had heard the noise and looked behind his largest workbench. Sure enough he found Peter Parker pressed against the side of the table, legs pulled up against his chest and staring up at him with comically wide brown eyes. 

A moment of awkward silence passed, then Peter relaxed his position into something he clearly hoped would look natural and gave Tony a casual nod and smile. “Oh hey man! What’s up?”

Tony stepped fully into view, his eyes darting automatically over the teenager’s body in search of his injury. He was in his spider suit, no mask, and seemed relatively unharmed other than a slice in one of his forearms. It didn’t look dangerously deep but was certainly bleeding enough to have gotten on his hands and dripped from the ceiling. 

Peter climbed to his feet, watching Tony carefully as though hoping he would actually fall for his laughable deflection. Tony just stared back, mind too overwhelmed with questions to know where to begin. The seconds ticked by and Peter's face grew redder and redder until finally he cleared his throat and looked away.

“So um. Hey, I was wondering if I could borrow some pliers?”

Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” Peter continued, playing nervously with his fingers. “Just for maybe half an hour? I’ll bring them right back.” 

Tony shook his head helplessly and looked to the tool rack hanging on the wall opposite Peter’s hiding place. There was a thin string of spider web hanging from it, stuck just slightly to the left of a pair of pliers. A wrench lay fallen on the tile by their feet. 

“Why do you need- no, first of all, why are you slinking around and hiding? Were you planning to _steal_ them?” 

“No!” Peter quickly looked back to him only to furrow his eyebrows. “Oh, well I guess… yeah, I guess I was going to steal them. But I was going to return them as soon as I was done! So… borrow?”

“Why didn’t you just ask me? I would have given them to you.”

“Well, I dunno.” Peter shifted back and forth on his feet and began playing with his fingers again. “I’m bleeding and stuff and I didn’t want to freak you out. Because I’m really okay, I just need some pliers is all.”

“And you thought leaving a trail of bloody handprints across my ceiling would freak me out less than walking through the door like a normal human?”

Peter glanced up at the smears of blood above them. “Oh... I can clean that.”

“Yeah. And you know I don’t freak out over a little blood, kid, so cut the bullshit. What are you not telling me?”

Peter’s face flushed again and his eyes strayed toward the door. “Actually you know, Mr. Stark, I can just buy some pliers. I didn’t want to scare anyone in the store but I’m sure they can handle it and it’s probably a good idea that I own some pliers anyway, you never really know when you’re going to need them-“

He tried to scoot past but Tony grabbed his supposedly-uninjured arm, only to frown when he saw a very brief but undeniable wince of pain cross the boy’s face. 

“Pete, you need to tell me what’s really going on,” he said, easing up on his grip but not letting go. 

Peter just swallowed and kept his eyes averted. 

“At least let me clean and wrap that cut before you go, okay?” Tony glanced pointedly at the slice on the boy’s forearm, hoping to stall him. “You can have the pliers or whatever else you want, but I’d rather you not leave another bloody trail on your way out.” 

To his surprise, Peter immediately perked up.

“Oh, sure! That’s really nice, thank you! I’m out of gauze at home so I was going to use napkins or something.”

“Christ, it’s a miracle you’ve lived this long,” Tony murmured, leading Peter toward the sink at the back of the workshop. “Okay, slip your arm out of your suit and I’ll get the kit.”

“Oh.” Peter slowed back to a stop. “Right. Uh… I can’t really do that right now.”

“Why?”

“It’s sort of…” He paused, some kind of internal struggle warring in his eyes, before finally sighing in resignation. “This is the part I didn’t want to freak you out about, so don’t freak out, but my suit is sort of… nailed on.”

Tony wasn’t expecting that one. He took a step closer, eyebrows shooting up. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Yeah... My fingers are too bloody to pull the nails out on my own, that’s why I need the pliers. Maybe I could do it with my fingernails, but I can’t get the suit off without getting the nails out first…” he trailed off, fingertips brushing over a spot just above his collarbone.

Tony drew Peter’s hand away to look for himself and soon found the nail. It was no wonder he hadn’t noticed it earlier - blood had oozed out around the puncture site, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the small silver nail head from the red suit unless you knew what you were looking for. The sight made his stomach twist a little, his mind unhelpfully supplying him with images of two-by-fours to remind him that nails only looked natural when they were hammered into wood. Not teenagers. 

“Where else?” Tony asked, already searching for himself. 

Peter pointed out another nail in the meat of his upper arm. “Just these two. I don’t think they hit anything important.”

Tony huffed. “Alright. Medbay.” 

“Really, Mr. Stark, I don’t need the Medbay.” The tone of Peter’s voice had Tony slowing down and looking back before he even made it two steps. It was calm and reassuring, lacking any of the nerves it usually held when trying to downplay or hide a serious injury. “I promise,” Peter added, his gaze steady on Tony’s. “The nails aren’t that long, I just need to get them out. It’ll heal in like an hour and a half tops.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “When was the last time you got a tetanus shot?”

“Six years ago,” Peter replied with a smile. “Besides, I don’t think I can even get tetanus anymore.” 

“Okay. Alright.” After another moment of indecision, Tony crossed back over to the tool rack and grabbed the pair needle-nose pliers that still had a string of web hanging next to them. “Can you sit?”

“I swung here and crawled across the ceiling.”

“That was a request, not a question of ability. Sit.”

With a sigh, Peter plopped down onto the couch and watched as Tony washed the grease from his hands in the sink. 

“So, you wanna tell me how you became part of a construction project?” As Tony spoke, the words drove home the realization that someone had to have done this. Someone had _hammered nails_ into this kid. He cut the water off with more force than was necessary and yanked a towel from its nearby hook. 

“Sorta my own fault,” Peter responded, watching Tony carefully. “Just fighting a few guys at a construction site. One of them got their hands on a nail gun and I got a little sloppy.”

A nail gun. Tony supposed that had to have been a little less painful than a hammer, at least, though the knowledge didn’t do much to quell the quiet anger simmering in his gut. He fished around under the sink for the medical kit then returned to Peter, settling next to him on the couch. 

“May doesn’t have any pliers at the apartment?” Tony asked as he carefully took Peter’s upper arm to look at the nail more closely. He had to push down on the surrounding suit a little bit in order to get the nose of the pliers under the nail head, but once he did, the nail pulled out easy enough. He quickly put a piece of gauze over the puncture site and then grabbed Peter’s other hand, placing it on top. “Hold that there.”

“Nah,” Peter answered noncommittally, obediently pressing the gauze against his arm. “We used to, but… well.”

Tony snorted as he readjusted to get a better angle on the nail above Peter’s collarbone. “Let me guess, you lose ‘em?”

“No,” Peter murmured, strangely not rising to meet Tony’s playful banter. His eyes were downcast, unnecessarily focused on the gauze under his fingers. “I broke them.”

His tone was leading and contained a distinct lack of humor, so Tony opted to stay quiet as he carefully worked the pliers under the second nail head, his other hand wrapped over Peter’s shoulder as a reminder to hold still. 

“They were Ben’s,” Peter continued quietly and Tony stopped, his heart dropping just a little in guilt. “It was right after I started getting my powers and I didn’t know how to control my strength yet. I was going to buy him a new pair for Father’s Day, but then he… you know. So. I dunno.” He cleared his throat, his voice returning to a more casual tone. “May and I just haven’t replaced them yet.”

Tony watched Peter’s face a moment longer, then gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Here we go,” he said in warning. This time when he pulled the nail out, Peter’s eyes squinted in a slight wince. Tony pressed another piece of gauze over the tiny wound and held it.

“I’m sorry kid, I didn’t know,” he added after a few moments of silence, but Peter just shook his head, lightly dismissing his apology.

“It’s fine, I just need to go ahead and buy new ones. It’s not that hard.”

Tony didn’t comment, instead dropping his eyes to consider the pair of pliers he still held loosely in his hand. They were old, from back when he was at college. The hinge was a little bit rusty, the blue rubber-covered handles worn. There was black electrical tape wrapped around the end of one of them to cover an area where the rubber had almost worn through. Inside one of the handles was “T. Stark” written in sharpie. 

It would probably be smarter to let Peter and May buy a new pair of pliers, ones that were unmarred and fresh and hadn’t almost gotten welded to a bicycle wheel by mistake. But… the more Tony got to know Peter, the more he was coming to realize what a sentimental kid he was. Everything meant something to Peter. Every old electronic he found in the dumpster had a story and was worth keeping and restoring. Not unlike the grease-covered armor that lay in pieces on the work table not far away.

“Why don’t you hang onto these?” Tony set his hand on Peter’s knee, the pliers offered in his open palm. 

For a moment Peter just looked at them, but Tony could see quiet excitement take over his features as his eyes darted over all the same imperfections that he himself had just been studying. 

“They’re old, but they’re strong and have survived a lot over the years,” he added, then smiled when Peter turned to hit him with bright, happy eyes. 

“Really?”

“Sure.” Tony had to break his gaze off then, as fondness and affection welled up a little more quickly than he expected. He balanced the pliers on Peter’s knee for him to take. “Just remember to wash your blood off of them before you use them.”

Peter picked up the small tool with a smile, fingers curling around it like it was a prized artifact.

“Speaking of which, you’re still a mess.” Tony stood and gathered the little bits of gauze to throw out. “I have some extra clothes you can borrow, so let’s get you sorted out.”

“Okay!”

  
  
  


Twenty minutes later, Tony was back at his workbench. The Rolling Stones were rolling once more, albeit not at the same decibel as before. It was quiet enough that he could hear an occasional _spritz spritz_ from the ceiling, always followed by a small rain of anti-bacterial particles descending somewhere in the room. 

“Dude your ceiling is so dirty.”

Tony looked up at Peter, who was sticking to the ceiling in a t-shirt and sweatpants, dutifully scrubbing a paper towel over one of the blood smears. His forearm was safely wrapped, puncture wounds bandaged. 

“Believe it or not, not many people get up there with a duster.”

“More paper towels?”

Tony took the roll from beside him and tossed it upward. Peter dropped the dirty piece he had been using in order to catch it and Tony watched, unimpressed, as it landed on the Ironman suit’s chest plate in front of him. He grabbed it and tossed it in a nearby waste bin. “Are you almost done? I want to show you how this suit is put together, it’s borderline primitive compared to what I have now. So… hurry up up there. But don’t miss any spots, it better be pristine next time I look up.”

“Jeez,” came the good natured, faux put-upon reply. 

Tony sat back down only to hear a distinct _spritz spritz_ from right above him, and a cloud of dampness descended directly onto his head, wetting his hair and neck with the overpowering scent of lemons. It was followed by unfettered snickering, and Tony released an exasperated sigh despite the smile that spread across his face. 

He had learned some time ago that true annoyance was nearly impossible in the face of Peter Parker’s happiness. And if Tony could be the source of that happiness, he was more than content to get spritzed with disinfectant. Even if all he was able to do from this moment on was provide a positive influence on Peter life, he would consider his own to be meaningful; whether that meant teaching him how to fight, patching up wounds, or even something as simple as giving him a pair of old pliers.

And so he went back to work buffing the Ironman chest plate, the origin of his superhero life, confident in knowing that the future of the entire superhero world was clinging to the ceiling just above him. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are treated as real currency and will be used to purchase that pony we've always wanted. <3


	4. ‘hey, hey, this is no time to sleep’ | ‘you have to let me go’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Tony,” Peter says shakily. “Y’okay? You’re bleedin’.”
> 
> “Oh, don’t mind that,” Tony says, swiping a hand over his temple dismissively. “You know head wounds always look worse than they are. I’ll be fine. You’re the one who looks like you went three rounds with the Hulk.”
> 
> “Feels like... more ‘n that,” Peter replies between stilted breaths. “Three wouldn’... barely wind me.”
> 
> Tony laughs, maybe a bit too manically. “You got me there. It takes a hell of a lot to take Spider-Man down.”
> 
> Bloody teeth peek out from behind a brave face. “Ya’d think. Bu’ this plane crash… got me good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My turn :)
> 
> See end notes for chapter warnings.

**_Now_ **

Tony comes to with a sharp pain at his temple, frowning and reaching for it with a hand even as he can’t quite get his eyes to focus beyond blurry slits.

 _Shit, how much did I drink last night?_ he thinks to himself, only to belatedly remember that he hasn’t had a drink in nearly fifteen years, since Morgan was born.

It’s then he registers something warm and sticky on the fingertips dabbing at his throbbing skull. _Blood._

His other senses filter in quickly after that, Tony realizing he’s lying not in bed but strapped mostly upright to something, a cushioned chair of some kind by the feel of it. He takes in a sharp breath and smells the unmistakable scent of thick smoke.

Tony’s eyes open with a sudden urgency, blinking a few times as he takes in his surroundings. Even through the acrid fog of the smoke he immediately recognizes the place. It’s the main cabin of one of Stark Industries’ private planes, except it’s a total mess—everything askew with broken glass and debris strewn about. Worse, the opposite side from where he’s sitting is heavily damaged, with the wing and engine entirely missing. Beyond the shorn puncture in the hull Tony sees nothing but forest.

 _The damn plane must have crashed,_ Tony thinks, only for the memory of the minutes and hours leading up to the accident to flood back in at the thought—recalling not just what happened but _who_ he was with. Panic slams into him like a punch to the gut.

_Oh god. Peter._

**_Then_ **

Tony’s eyes narrow with amused suspicion when he sees the name on the caller ID.

“To what do I owe this pleasant surprise, Mrs. Parker-Hogan?” he says by way of greeting, still assessing Peter’s proposed schematics for flexible nano-reflector panels. Ever since the kid had started mentoring Miles Morales, he’d continually mentioned off and on to Tony how useful becoming invisible was for the teen. Now, four years later, Peter—never one to be prompt, not even for his job as Head of SI’s R&D Department—had finally gotten around to trying to figure out a way to convincingly mimic the younger spider’s enhanced ability using his suit. 

Which is what had led to Tony taking a look at what Peter had come up with, albeit very reluctantly. Even six months ago he’d have been gung-ho, but now that Michelle and Peter had a baby coming, well. It isn’t easy anymore for Tony to support Peter putting his life on the line every day, like he once had.

“Hi Tony,” May says. “I bet you’re surprised I’m calling.”

“I am. You’re a serial texter,” Tony replies, flicking through to another page. “Just your emojis alone could max out a typical monthly phone plan in less than a week.”

“Good thing you’re filthy rich then,” May deadpans. “I have something to share that I _know_ you’re dying to find out. But if I type it then there will be written evidence, and I need to maintain plausible deniability as much as I can.”

“Oh?” Tony says, pausing in his work. “And what would that be?”

He can practically see May’s exuberant expression as she excitedly whispers, “Peter and Michelle are having a boy!”

“They are?” Tony exclaims. “How do you know? I thought they didn’t want to find out the sex?”

 _“Peter_ doesn’t want to find out,” May corrects. “But MJ did, and so they agreed she would keep it a secret.”

“Let me guess,” Tony says dryly, even as his heart sings at the thought of having a surrogate grandson, “Michelle told her mom, who then told you.”

The few beats of silence on the other end confirms as much, Tony smirking as May hisses, “The grapevine ends with you, mister. You can’t tell a soul, and _especially_ not Peter.”

“Peter, no problem. But I can’t keep this from Pep,” Tony pleads. “If she finds out later I knew and didn’t share… well, let’s just say a box of coal would be the _nicest_ gift I’d receive come Christmas.”

“Fine. You can tell Pepper, but not Morgan,” May commands sternly. “Even if I thought she could keep it from Peter, it’d take less than a day for MJ to figure out she was hiding something and wheedle the truth out of her. And then we’d _all_ get coal under the tree.”

“I won’t tell a soul besides Pepper,” Tony vows. “Cross my heart and hope to die, May.”

“Good,” May replies, appeased. “Oh, gotta go. Hap just got home and I have to tell him too.” 

“Sounds good,” Tony says, and then, more softly, “A baby _boy_. Wow, that’s just…”

“I know,” May says sincerely, and he can hear the beginnings of tears in her voice. “To think I’ll get to see Peter as a father to a son…” 

She trails off, sniffling for a moment before adding, “If only Ben were here to see him. He’d be so proud.” Before Tony can respond to that she says, “Talk soon, Tony.”

“Bye, May.”

Tony hangs up, debating returning to the hologram for a few moments only to collapse into a nearby chair instead, overwhelmed with mixed emotions.

May had been right—Tony _had_ been dying to know what Michelle and Peter were having, and selfishly disappointed when Peter had told him they were going to let it be a surprise. 

But now that he knows, it’s both better and worse than before. Better in that he can now vividly envision Peter with his son through the years—holding him, playing with him, eventually guiding and teaching him. 

But it's also worse, because it’s far too easy for Tony to imagine May’s words but coming from Michelle. _If only Peter were here to see him. He’d be so proud._

Because he can just as easily foresee a future where that same beautiful boy doesn’t have his father, losing him to one of the life-or-death situations Peter seemed to find himself in on a near-weekly basis. Peter had managed to scrape through until now, but Tony knows better than most that luck can run out at any moment.

The dark thoughts creeping in are enough to make him stand up and swipe viciously through thin air at the panel schematics. But even as the hologram disappears, it does nothing to erase the worry buried deep in Tony’s chest, right under his scars. 

He knows he’s unlikely to ever succeed at convincing Peter to step down from being Spider-Man and fully pass the mantle to Miles.

But for Peter’s child—his baby _boy_ —Tony knows he has to try.

**_Now_ **

It doesn’t take more than thirty seconds for Tony to untwist himself from the seat straps. He spends another minute double- and triple-checking Peter isn’t also inside the smoking plane. Of course, he’d already known he wouldn’t be, but part of Tony had been hoping all the same.

Due to the missing wing, the plane is propped at an angle, and Tony has to climb his way out, cutting his hands on glass shards and ragged metal as he hauls himself bodily over the edge of the torn hull, landing on soft dirt with a grunt.

“Peter!” he calls out as soon as he’s on his feet, frantically looking around. Behind the plane is a long, deep trail in the earth, downed trees and overturned soil in its wake from where the plane’s belly must have touched down and skidded across the forest floor. Tony knows exactly who deserves credit for the relatively soft landing. But in order to thank him, first he needs to _find_ him. “Peter? Yell if you can hear me!”

Nothing but the sounds of birds answer Tony, and he forces himself to take a deep breath, hands on his hips as he takes another look around only to pause when he sees what look like downed treetops past the nose tip, as though something long and thin had come apart from the aircraft and been flung forward, slicing the tree trunks in half in the process.

Something like a missing wing.

It’s a flimsy lead at best but it’s all Tony has to go on, and he doggedly sets off across the uneven terrain, ignoring his sore body’s protests. 

He follows the row of sliced trees, watching as it gets progressively lower until he finally catches a glimpse of scratched, painted metal up ahead.

The wing still looks to be intact, and the engine still attached to it. It’s propped upright even, and as Tony gets closer he can see the residue of webs all along the long, triangular top, where Peter had leveraged his strength to guide the aircraft.

And there, underneath the wing and engine, hidden in the shadows—

A body.

**_Then_ **

As it turns out, Tony’s chance to try to talk to Peter comes sooner than he’d planned on. 

Not three days after May’s call, the kid gets attacked just blocks from his and MJ’s apartment by Scorpion, Doc Ock _and_ the Lizard, all of whom were dead-set on taking their main nemesis down once and for all. By the time Miles had arrived and helped fend them off, Peter was barely holding onto consciousness, having been impaled through the thigh by one of Doc Ock’s tentacles _and_ pierced by Scorpion’s poisonous stinger. 

As soon as they’d heard from Doctor Cho that Peter would make a full recovery, Tony had left the medbay and gone back to his private lab, worried that his frustration about how Peter _never prioritized his own damn life_ would overcome his common sense about waiting to voice his concerns until the kid was at least a bit less drugged, if nothing else.

So he’d waited to visit until the next day, when he knew Peter would be alone—May at F.E.A.S.T. headquarters and MJ at her assistant paralegal job over in Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Where ya been, old man?” Peter greets him from his hospital bed with a small grin, curious but apparently not put out by Tony’s conspicuous absence. “Pepper didn’t put you on R&D oversight duty in my stead, did she?”

“Oversight? With the way I absolutely detest admin work? Nah,” Tony replies, settling down in the chair by Peter. “No, I just needed some time to… gather my thoughts, before I came to see you.”

Peter’s brow scrunches, the yellows and greens of a half-healed bruise on his forehead rippling before it smooths out when he smiles again. “You? Thinking too much? That’s a first.”

“Such disrespect, and from my own mentee,” Tony replies, feigning hurt. “Did you forget who pays your salary?”

Peter laughs, gaze softening. “Okay, Tony. Hit me. What’s on your mind?”

Tony takes a deep breath, stalling for time as he considers chickening out. There’s plenty of good excuses he could use to placate himself, after all. The fact that Peter’s still healing up for one, or that he himself is legitimately exhausted after pulling his first all-nighter in years. He’d been unable to sleep, tossing and turning as he mulled over what to say to Peter, how to approach a conversation they’d both carefully avoided since even before Peter had turned to dust.

The thing is, Tony had long had a particular kind of anger that seemed reserved for Peter alone, specifically when he both agreed and disagreed with the kid’s reckless heroics. It had always been hard to condemn anything that Tony himself would have done readily— _had_ continued to do, albeit only on critical Avengers missions the last decade before his superhero retirement, after they’d defeated Thanos and Peter and the others returned. But it was also just as if not _more_ difficult to praise the kid for his specially risky decisions on the field, knowing just how high the cost would be if he died. Tony already had five years of living that cost under his belt; he didn’t want to see even a moment more added to the pile.

But complicated emotions were hard for Tony to confront, always had been, and openly talking about them even moreso. By far the easier way was to stick to his and Peter’s well-worn path of fond exasperation, one in which Peter was endlessly apologetic for the worry he’d caused but never the choices he’d made, and Tony was forever left to wonder if loving a child like your own didn’t mean losing them, one way or another.

Maybe it’s the certain knowledge that those same fears are now going to be shared—those truths that he knows Peter is going to learn soon, when he has a son of his own to love and protect—that makes Tony unable to stay quiet this time.

“I think you should stop being Spider-Man.”

The sentence hangs in the air, Tony watching as Peter scoffs as if he’d just made a bad joke, only for his expression to slip into stunned surprise, jaw dropping but no words coming out. Finally he raises an eyebrow, smirking again but not quite as kindly as before when he replies, “You’re actually serious.”

Tony gravely nods. “Yeah, I am. I want you to have a future, to _be_ part of the future. But if you keep going the way you are–”

“And what way is that, exactly?” Peter interrupts snidely. “Because in case you missed it, I was _ambushed_ last night on my way home from patrol. I didn’t go out looking for trouble, trouble found me.”

“And that doesn’t make you more worried for your safety? For MJ’s? They know where you _live,_ Peter.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t know where I live because they don’t know who I _am,”_ Peter argues back. “They were just looking for me in Queens—where I almost always patrol, if you’ve forgotten—and happened to catch me right as I was about to arrive back at the apartment, that’s all.”

“This isn’t just about last night,” Tony says calmly, unwilling to let the conversation get too sidetracked. “This is about how reckless you are with your safety all the time. How you never even consider walking away from a fight, even when you’re outnumbered. It’s about how you never choose to save yourself, kid. And as long as you’re Spider-Man, I know you never will.”

“So you think just the _chance_ I might die in my suit is—what?” Peter asks, scowling. “More important than protecting my neighbors? New York City? The _world_?”

“That’s not what I said,” Tony shoots back, biting down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to not rise to the obvious bait. But the anger comes to the surface all the same. “You know damn well what I’m trying to say. It was different before, when I could still justify my support even if the thought of losing you again terrified me. But now you have a child on the way, Pete. I know you can’t grasp the full consequences of that yet, but—don’t you maybe think that should change things, hell, even a _little_ bit?”

The last remnants of goodwill vanish from Peter’s face.

“Don’t lecture me about the responsibility of being a father, Tony,” he says with a deceptive calm. “I’ve buried two of them. I know all too well the kind of pain my child would be burdened with if I died.”

Tony sighs. “Kid, that’s not–”

“You want to know what I think about being a father?” Peter continues over him. “I think that if I could ask him, Ben would say he doesn’t regret for a moment taking that bullet for me. Because I was his son, and he would have done anything—given _anything_ —to keep me safe. Even if it meant sacrificing himself.”

“Of course, but–”

“So you _really_ want to know what I think?” Peter asks, voice low. “I think that doing whatever I can to protect my child’s home—to keep it safe for them—will _always_ be worth the chance of me dying. And that’s _never_ going to change.”

Silence descends behind Peter’s pronouncement, a thick tension settling between the two of them until Tony feels like he could suffocate from it.

Finally he takes a deep breath, shaking his head as he closes his eyes. “I get that, Pete, I really do, but–”

“Get out.”

Tony glances back at Peter. “What?”

“You heard me,” Peter replies, stone-faced. “Get out. I don’t want you here right now.”

Tony huffs out a wary laugh. “Look, kid, I get that this isn’t an easy conversation to have, but I don’t think–”

“Get. OUT!”

Tony stands up at the shout, walking over to the door. He has no idea how the conversation went so completely sideways as fast as it did, but he does know that he claims the lion’s share of the blame.

He pauses in the doorway, only barely looking over his shoulder when he says, “You’re going to be a great dad, Pete.”

Tony waits for Peter to respond, but the kid says nothing, stubborn as ever. Or maybe just hurt.

Without saying anything else, Tony takes his leave. 

**_Now_ **

Peter’s alive. 

“Thank god,” Tony breathes out with joyous relief when he gets close enough to see the kid’s eyes are tracking his movements. 

Peter is alive, thank god, but he’s definitely injured. His face is a bruised mess, clothes torn and conspicuously stained in the way that speaks of hidden injuries. One arm is obviously broken, the other on Peter’s far side, where Tony can’t see.

And he doesn’t even want to think of what damage lay past the kid’s waist, hips and legs disappearing underneath the plane engine—a puddle of growing blood seeping out from the edge of it, by his side.

Tony’s seen enough death to know what that volume of hemorrhaging likely means, but his mind denies it, focusing only on Peter’s bloodied face and giving the kid a smile as he crouches down underneath the propped wing Peter’s upper body is lying below.

“Hey Pete.”

“Hey Tony,” Peter says shakily, smiling back. “Y’okay? You’re bleedin’.”

“Oh, don’t mind that,” Tony says, swiping a hand over his temple dismissively. “You know head wounds always look worse than they are. I’ll be fine. You’re the one who looks like you went three rounds with the Hulk.”

“Feels like... more ‘n that,” Peter replies between stilted breaths. “Three wouldn’... barely wind me.”

Tony laughs, maybe a bit too manically. “You got me there. It takes a hell of a lot to take Spider-Man down.”

Peter glances pointedly at the engine and wing before his gaze falls back on Tony, bloody teeth peeking out from behind a brave face. “Ya’d think. Bu’ this plane crash… got me good.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count you out just yet,” Tony says, far too lightly for how scared he feels. “You’re not going to let a little dinky plane win, are you? Because that’s not the Peter Parker I know. Not when you were fifteen fighting Toomes, and certainly not now.”

“M’ legs… are crushed,” Peter says, far too matter-of-fact. “And there’s… somethin’ big’n sharp… stuck in… my lung. Hurts… t’ breathe.”

As if to confirm Peter’s assessment a trickle of blood runs down from the corner of his mouth on his next breath. Tony’s heart rate picks up at the sight, but he forces himself to push his growing panic down. Any emotion that doesn’t help Peter is a useless one right now. 

“Listen to me, kid,” Tony demands. “Are you listening?”

Peter gives a tiny nod of his head, blinking slow. 

“Good,” Tony says. “So here’s the deal. Sam, he’s gonna show up with the cavalry any minute. They’re gonna show up and we’re gonna get you stabilized, and you’re going to be _fine._ So just hold on and–”

“t-Tony,” Peter softly interrupts, far too gentle considering how much pain he must be in. “I know ya don't wanna hear this bu’... I’m dying.”

“What? No. No, you’re not, Peter.” Tony shakes his head. “You’re not dying, you’re–”

“I am.” Peter coughs, a weak thing, before barreling on. “Need to ask… a favor.”

An even more violent headshake, enough that Tony’s entire skull throbs in protest. “Nope, not doing it, I’m not–”

“Puh… please tell…. May… that I love her and that she w-was”–Peter sobs, eyes scrunching up with a pain that goes far beyond the physical–”she was… a good mom.”

Before Tony can respond to that he continues, voice wispy, “And p-please… tell MJ–”

“No,” Tony chokes out, bringing the kid’s requests to a halt. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything, Pete. You know why? Because you’re not dying.”

Peter shakes his head minutely, rejecting the words even as he reaches for Tony with his broken arm. “Hold… my hand?”

“I’m not holding your hand because you’re not dying,” Tony says firmly.

A tear falls from Peter’s bloodshot left eye. His fingers spasm. “Hol’ mah–...my hand.”

“No. Now stop it.” The words are spoken in the same tone he’s used to give Spider-Man a thousand orders over the years, right up until he retired, handing the reins and every last bit of his Iron Man tech to Riri Williams. Tony tries hard not to think just then about how many times Peter never listened to him anyway.

“You’re not dying today, kid,” Tony repeats, “so just stop with this final goodbyes bullshit.”

Peter opens his mouth to reply but Tony quickly shimmies out from underneath the wing and gets back to his feet, planting himself along the side of the long slice of metal, gripping it from underneath. With everything he has he lifts, his back and arms straining, eyes and neck veins bulging. He feels the engine atop Peter move just an inch, if that, before his body gives out on him and he’s forced to drop it back down. 

The small amount of hope Tony still has left sinks with it, and he leans over the top of the wing, forehead touching the unyielding metal. Only a wheezed plea, barely a breath on the air, brings him out of his despair. 

“t-Tony?”

Tony lifts his head, looking up at the vast grey sky for answers but seeing only one harrowing truth in the emptiness above. 

He can’t save Peter. 

But he _can_ do what he failed to do on Titan. He can be there for him, let him know how loved he is. He can comfort him, and let him die with peace.

It goes against every instinct Tony has to give up. But Peter needs him, and what the kid needs will always override Tony’s own impulses.

With a deep, painful breath he gets back down on the ground, army crawling underneath the wing until once more he’s inches from Peter. He doesn’t wait for the kid to ask again, just takes his cold, bloodied hand in both of his own. Holding him the only way he can.

“Hey bud. I’m here.”

“Tony,” Peter whispers with relief, closing his eyes.

  
**_Then_ **

A day turns into two, then ten, then weeks. But still, Tony doesn’t hear from Peter. 

It’s not for lack of trying. He sends memes, stupid dad jokes, a reminder about Morgan’s dance recital in a few weeks. Tries calling a few times, but Peter never picks up. Never sends him straight to voicemail either though, a fact Tony clings to.

He does eventually hear from May, who calls for the second time in under a month—a record, Tony is pretty sure—and demands to know what’s going on between them.

“Peter won’t tell MJ anything, just that you two had an argument,” she says. 

“To be honest, May, I don’t feel it’s my place to explain if Peter hasn’t,” Tony offers up.

“Ah,” May says knowingly, “so you feel guilty about it, whatever it is. Otherwise you’d just tell me.”

Tony doesn’t respond, knowing his silence is enough of a reply on its own.

“Well,” May dryly begins after a few moments, “I don’t need to know what happened to know this much. If Peter still won’t talk to you, then he’s probably feeling conflicted himself about his own part in it. You’re going to have to nudge him if you want to fix things, and by _nudge_ I mean force the issue. Set up an impromptu meeting, or something.”

May’s advice is how Tony finds himself hiding on the floor of the empty cockpit of one of SI’s charter planes early the next morning, waiting for EDITH to guide the plane to take off. According to the company’s scheduled travel logs, Peter was supposed to be the sole passenger on a one-day there-and-back trip to Texas, presenting on some new green tech initiatives R&D had been working on.

Tony waits until they’re over the Appalachian mountains and too far to turn back before making his appearance—smirking when he sees Peter wearing his noise-canceling headphones just like he had counted on, knowing the kid would have heard his heartbeat before he even got onboard otherwise. He whips them off when he sees Tony step out from the front.

“Seriously?” he hisses. “Stalking, Tony? Really?”

“It’s technically not stalking when you’re on _my_ property,” Tony points out with a grin, then when Peter just glares at him, adds pleadingly, “Look, I just want a chance to say my piece, and then if you never want to talk about it again, we don’t have to. You have my word.”

Peter stares at him for a few more moments before motioning to the seat across from himself, Tony gratefully sitting down before leaning over, elbows on his knees.

He looks down at his clasped hands, taking a deep breath before glancing back up at Peter who is watching him warily now, as if _he’s_ the one who has any reason to be nervous when it’s Tony who messed up.

“Let me start out by saying I’m sorry,” he begins, staring at his lap. “To the point, I’m sorry for saying that you didn’t understand what it was to be a father yet. You told me months ago you could hear your baby’s heartbeat even before MJ took a test, and that—well, you were a father the moment you figured that out, kid. I’m sorry that I didn’t completely get that until now.”

Peter doesn’t respond but for a tiny nod of his head, Tony glancing up just long enough to catch his eye before looking away again and continuing, “But you have to understand, Pete—I lost you once before. And that was… it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Worse than the pain of waking up during open heart surgery, or finding out that my parents had been murdered by HYDRA. Losing you… it changed me. Even having you back all these years doesn’t undo those memories, or erase that pain.” Tony sighs tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess at the end of the day, the idea of knowing there was a person on the way—a tiny, beautiful, perfect person—who would mourn your death more than everyone else who loves you combined? That scared me. Hell, it still scares me.”

He risks another glance to see Peter still watching him carefully, clearly unsure of where he’s going with this.

“But,” Tony adds with emphasis, forcing himself to keep looking at Peter, “that doesn’t give me the right to tell you how to parent. And even if I’ll never be able to fully agree with your decision to keep being Spider-Man 24/7, I want you to know that I respect it. Because I know it’s a decision you’re making with your eyes wide open, because you _were_ that tiny, perfect kid once who lost their parents. All three of them. I’m sorry I didn’t remember that before, either.”

The two stare at each other for long moments before Peter’s gaze softens into a mix of understanding and guilt.

“Thanks, Tony. And I want you to know that I–” he starts to say only to cock his head to the side, eyes going wide. “Wait. Something’s–”

Just then things start to go quiet— _too_ quiet. 

“ALERT. SYSTEMS BREACH,” EDITH announces, “ALERT. SYSTEMS BREEAAAAA…..”

The sound of the AI’s voice goes low before shutting down entirely along with the rest of the plane—including, to Tony’s dismay, the engines. 

He barely has a chance to realize what’s happening before Peter has him from around the middle, keeping him from tumbling to the front of the plane as it starts to nosedive. 

“Where are the parachutes?” Peter yells into Tony’s ear over the din of free fall, Tony motioning to a cupboard a few seats over—only to yelp when Peter races toward it with Tony in tow, using his stickiness to keep them from getting tossed around.

Peter opens the cabinet but it’s empty, nothing inside. At the sight Tony immediately presses on his watch’s panic button three times, knowing it would send an alert to SHIELD and the Avengers with his location, as well as signal FRIDAY to order Pepper and Morgan to go to ground. 

Tony briefly tries to remember who in the world wants him dead this year only to remember that he wasn’t ever supposed to be on the plane in the first place. Nobody wants him dead—they want _Peter_ dead. 

Before he can think more about that Peter leaps yet again, this time back for the seats, depositing Tony into one with the ease of an adult maneuvering a toddler and quickly strapping him in. But to Tony’s dismay Peter doesn’t do the same for himself, instead moving past him, in the direction of the entry cabin, where the door is. 

Tony fumbles for Peter’s arm. “What are you doing?!”

“Going outside! I have to steer the plane!” Peter yells back. But he doesn’t yank his arm away, Tony realizing after a moment that he’s waiting for something.

 _Permission,_ Tony thinks. Or perhaps he just needs to know Tony believes in him. Either way, Tony nods, squeezing Peter’s arm once tightly before letting him go.

Peter smiles reassuringly, lifting his arms to show his web-shooters peeking out from underneath his business suit cuffs. He leans back toward Tony and says into his ear, “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve done this before, remember? I’m not gonna let you die.”

It’s only a little while later, when the plane hits the ground and just before something much smaller hits Tony’s temple and knocks him out, that he realizes that Peter only promised he would save Tony, not himself.

**_Now_ **

There's no words for the terror that spikes through Tony when Peter’s eyes close.

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep,” Tony says, Peter’s eyelids prying open to look lazily back at him. “That’s it, that’s it. You just gotta hang on for a little longer, okay? Help is coming, but you gotta be here when it does, you hear me?”

Peter smiles, but with the wreckage that is his face it looks more like a grimace. He doesn’t have to speak for Tony to know what he’s saying. 

_You have to let me go._

“No, Pete. You can’t die, you can’t, you know why?” Tony swallows down a sob. It’s time to pull out the biggest gun in his arsenal, his promise to May be damned. “You know why, huh? Because… because you and MJ, you’re gonna have a boy.”

Something sparks from deep within Peter’s eyes, new colors shining through. “A b-boy?”

“Yeah, a baby boy,” Tony confirms. Then huffing out a weak laugh, he adds with a pained smile, “Only I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

Peter laughs too, but the sound doesn’t quite make it past his throat, instead getting stuck there, choked and broken. A new trickle of blood flows out of the corner of his mouth.

“MJ’ll… unders… stand,” he says, then with new reverence, “A _boy,_ huh?… W-we’re callin’… him Ben.”

Tony bites his lip. It’s getting harder to hold the tears back. “Baby Benji, huh? That’s a fine name, Pete. The very best.”

“Benji,” Peter repeats softly, eyes going dull again.

“Hey, what did I say? You gotta stay with me,” Tony demands, then with his voice hanging by a thread, “You have to stay because there are so many good things to come, Pete.”

New colors, shimmering in familiar brown irises. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling and nodding his head as he lets his imagination run wild. “You see, you and Michelle? You’re going to have Ben, and he’s gonna be the most beautiful baby ever, with dark eyes like hers and her curls. And May, she’s going to fawn over her grandson all the time. She’ll share every video and photo on facebook that you two will let her, she’ll be so proud of him. And you, you’re going to be exhausted because being a parent is hard and tiring, believe me. But more than that, more than all of that, you're going to wonder every day—every single day for the rest of your life—how in the world you got so _damn_ lucky.”

Peter looks at Tony like he’s drinking in his entire future in one gulp, hanging on every word. Like he can see every moment that Tony is telling him about, living in an instant every day of his long life yet to come, and god, holding the kid’s hand isn’t close to enough but it’s the only touchpoint Tony’s got to offer. He grips the limp fingers all the harder for it.

“Lucky… y-yeah,” Peter says, lips turning up gently, the look of a true believer clouding his features. “I’m def–… definitely that.”

“So that’s why you need to live,” Tony reminds him, unacknowledged tears running down his face. “You need to stay with me now, so you can be there for them later. Okay, Pete? It’s what’s meant to be, but you”–he takes a shaky breath–”you gotta stick around to see it.”

“Meant… to be,” Peter repeats on the ghost of a breath, and the small smile marginally lifts.

Something changes in the kid’s eyes then. The colors don’t lessen, but they do shift, going from wonder to something deeper as he focuses back on Tony, a fiercer presence than they’ve had since the moment Tony found him amidst all the debris.

Tony sees gratitude there, and love. Absolution.

Goodbye.

And then the colors flicker and go dark, leaving only washed out brown. Peter stares sightlessly, eyes fixed downward and just off Tony’s face. 

“Pete? Peter?”

Peter doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. He doesn't make a sound.

So Tony copies him, going quiet as he examines Peter’s face, waiting for the boy—now a man, soon to be a _father_ —to turn to dust. 

Because if Peter turns to dust, then that means this is just another nightmare, one of hundreds Tony suffered through while Peter was dead and even after he came back. The nightmares had been awful back then, but now it would be a welcome blessing. Because if Peter turns to dust now, then that means Tony will wake up. 

So Tony stares. Watches and waits.

Peter doesn’t turn to dust.

The dam holding back Tony’s sobs finally breaks, and he reaches out with a shaking hand while continuing to hold Peter’s own limp one with the other. He trails his fingers through Peter’s curls, down the sides of his cheeks, and finally over his translucent eyelids, letting them fall and cover the eyes that only minutes before had still held life. Still held hope.

That’s how Sam and the others find them over an hour later: Tony, still holding onto Peter’s hand.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: MCD
> 
> Also, inspiration taken from a Grey's Anatomy scene seek sent me months and months ago. I finally got around to writing it, my friend!


	5. imprisonment | torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a week and Mr Stark still hasn’t found him.
> 
> “You’re making my life more difficult than it needs to be.” The man stops in front of Peter, leans in until their noses are almost brushing. “And making yours more painful.”
> 
> “I don’t know anything. I keep telling you.” Peter lets his voice tremble a little for the same reason he lets the cuffs hold him; as far as they know, he’s just a young, frightened kid. That’s why they’d taken him. “I’m an intern.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is Late but i am also Busy
> 
> ### warnings:
> 
> captivity, nonspecific torture, unreliable narration, power suppression, peter losing his wee marbles, angst. can however promise no MCD _sideeyes seeksak_

“Tell us, and this can all stop.”

Peter probes the inside of his mouth with his tongue, winces at the sting. He doesn’t say anything.

“I know you’re just as sick of this as I am.” The man comes every day, always asking the same questions. Sometimes he throws a punch. Right now, he’s circling Peter’s chair like a shark, making his danger sense crawl. “Don’t you want to go home?”

More than anything. He wants slightly burnt lasagna with May and late-night pizza in the lab with Mr Stark. He wants to get out of this uncomfortable chair, get away from this shitty place and never look back. 

It’s been a week and Mr Stark still hasn’t found him.

“You’re making my life more difficult than it needs to be.” The man stops in front of Peter, leans in until their noses are almost brushing. “And making yours more painful.”

“I don’t know anything. I keep telling you.” Peter lets his voice tremble a little for the same reason he lets the cuffs hold him; as far as they know, he’s just a young, frightened kid. That’s why they’d taken him. “I’m an intern.”

“Personal intern.”

“Yeah, but—but all that means is I get coffee for him instead of, like, the Tech Support department. I don’t—I don’t know what you want. Like, I don’t _know_ it.”

“Disappointing.”

Why isn’t Mr Stark here?

“I’m a kid. Do you think he just hands out access to his systems? He’s paranoid as hell, man. Won’t even let me clean his desk.”

_Here, stand right there. Hold this while I solder it. Okay, got it. Thanks, kid. Oh, have a rummage around—I drew up some specs while I was in a board meeting yesterday. See if there’s anything you’d want to incorporate into your suit._

“But you must see things. Hear an override code or a protocol.”

Peter swallows. “I need you to understand how much coffee this man drinks. That is literally all I do for him. Get coffee.”

It’s been a week.

“I still don’t believe you.”

“Please.” The tears that well up in Peter’s eyes aren’t all for show. “I can’t tell you anything if I don’t _know_ anything.”

“And I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying to me, Mr Parker.”

“Well,” Peter says, “this is really gonna suck for both of us.”

“Yes,” the man agrees, “but worse for you.”

* * *

He doesn’t understand why they’re doing this. 

Well, scratch that, he kind of does. They want something from Mr Stark.

But why don’t they just _ask_ him? They already have Peter, so why don’t they use him as leverage? Surely that’s a better way to get access to FRIDAY than asking a teenager. 

Peter’s sure he could if he tried, but he doesn’t want to try, so he just keeps saying _I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know_ and they get more and more angry and then it _hurts—_

Where’s Mr Stark? Why hasn’t he come?

He probably has no idea where Peter is.

* * *

“Peter? Peter.”

Voices voices voices. Hands. He flinches away, as much as he can, anticipating the poking, prodding—and the hurt.

But there’s no pain, just fingers snapping in front of his face, beside his ears.

“Fucking broke him.”

“I need to start seeing results.”

“You really think he actually knows something?”

“Anything is better than nothing.”

* * *

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?”

Peter doesn’t know.

“Seventeen days.” The man seems different, taller maybe, but then Peter blinks and he looks like he used to. “I’m impressed, Peter. You held out seventeen days. You’re a strong kid.” He leans closer. “But don’t you think, if Tony Stark really wanted to find something, seventeen days is long enough?”

Where’s Mr Stark? Has it been seventeen days? He hasn’t had fifty-one meals. Maybe he’s had thirty-four. Or seventeen.

“If he cared about you, he would’ve come for you by now.”

Mr Stark hasn’t found him.

“So you can stop protecting him. Let go of your loyalty. Everything will all be so much easier. Do as we say.”

_No. Bad._ Some primal instinct rears its head, screaming a warning. _Don’t trust._

His arms are trapped.

“Peter? Are you listening?”

“I can’t.” The fear chokes him, panic claws at his throat. “I—I don’t know how to do what you want.”

The man shakes his head. “I really thought we’d made some progress, Peter.”

Maybe he does know. Maybe he can give them what they want. Maybe this will all stop. 

* * *

They take him out of the chair often—to go to the toilet, to be hosed down, to go to The Room.

He shudders every time he thinks about it, about what happens there. It hurts. His wrists throb, always bruised from restraints he should be able to break—and it would be a terrible thing if he did. For some reason, he keeps himself captive like his life depends on it.

He wishes he could remember the reason. 

* * *

“Get up.”

How long has it been? Where’s Mr Stark? Why hasn’t anyone found him?

Legs unsteady, arms cuffed behind his back. They walk him out, turn left. They’re going to The Room.

_No._

Peter plants his heels on the floor just as he yanks his wrists apart, snapping the cuffs and throwing the two guards off balance. He’s free! Free to escape, and he didn’t break once. He didn’t betray Mr Stark. 

He barely gets a few steps before his legs start to burn with lactic acid and he stumbles, catches himself on the wall. Footsteps bear down on him. 

“Well, that was unexpected.” A hand grasps his chin, pulling it up. When had he sat down? “Although I suppose it explains why one meal a day doesn’t seem to cut it. You’re quite something, Peter Parker.” 

No. He needs to run. He needs to get out before they realise—

“He’s enhanced. Restrain him properly this time.”

* * *

It hurts to swallow. Pressure on his throat. When he opens his eyes, they blur. 

“Just in case. Not that you look up to much, anyway.”

The metal is cold, restrictive. It’s taken his powers, stolen them, sucked them away and left him lying on the damp ground.

“So.” Someone crouches in front of him. He can’t remember _getting_ to the ground. Or being stood up. How long has he been here? “Are we feeling helpful today, Peter?”

Help. He should help them. Shouldn’t he? 

“I was surprised, you know. I wondered how you held out so long. It makes more sense now. But it doesn’t mean this won’t still extremely unpleasant for you. Do you understand?”

No. He can’t do what they want. That’s bad. He shakes his head. 

“Oh, Peter.” The man sounds disappointed. “What a shame.”

* * *

Mr Stark isn’t coming. Maybe he can’t. Maybe he won’t. Either way, he’s not here, and Peter is. Still.

“How are we feeling?”

Pain pain pain. Clawing at him, digging in, refusing to let go—

He’s in the monster’s den, and it’s eating him alive.

“You know how to make it stop.”

“Please…” he rasps, fingers curling weakly, grasping at nothing.

“Not quite.”

The collar digs into his neck as he rolls over. Shame. Hides his face. “I’ll do it.”

“What was that, Peter?”

“I’ll do it. Just stop. Please stop.”

A hand grasps his chin, a gesture that’s quickly become familiar, and he leans into the touch, desperate for contact that doesn’t mean pain. “I’m very pleased to hear that, Peter.”

_I’m sorry Mr Stark I tried I’m sorry I’m sorry—_

* * *

“I can’t see.”

“What?”

Peter looks down. “I—I needed glasses before I—without my enhancements—”

Silence. The light from the laptop screen blurs even more. Then, “Fine.”

A click, and his neck is free, but he doesn’t feel any stronger; still on the verge of passing out, the edge of his vision spinning, but at least he can see the letters on the keyboard.

“You know what to do.”

Peter starts typing. 

If Mr Stark was—by some miracle—still looking for him, he definitely won’t be now. Peter broke. He’s helping the enemy. He’s alone.

So he types. 

* * *

Running. Shouting. Peter blinks awake, swallowing against the collar. It’s loud. Everything is loud.

He isn’t in the chair. He hasn’t been since his failed escape, when they saw how weak he was. With the collar suppressing his powers, he’s useless. Broken.

“Peter?”

That’s a new voice. He doesn’t like new. Frightening.

“Peter, hey.” Hands, on his face, his shoulders. He cringes away. “Kid, it’s me. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

What a foreign concept.

“Opening your eyes would be a good start, you know.”

_Huh._ Peter peels open one sticky eyelid, 

“There you are.” Mr Stark smiles down at him, close enough for his eyes to focus. “We’re gonna get that thing off you, okay? You’re safe, you’re all right.”

Mr Stark. No. He’s not coming. “Why’re y’here?” Peter mumbles.

The smile falters. “I got the location the instant you started to access FRIDAY. We flew straight here.”

He knows. He knows what Peter did. “Sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“No, no, Pete, you were brilliant. Held out until you could get to a computer and send us a signal.”

Peter frowns, gingerly sits up; Mr Stark steadies him. “No—no, I—”

“Tony? You got him?”

“In here!” Mr Stark calls, his gaze never moving from Peter’s face. “We’re good.”

A blurry shape appears in the doorway. “One of them had some kinda remote, so I guess…”

_Click._ The collar falls away, makes a hollow clatter on the cement floor. Peter sucks in a breath, blinking in an effort to make his eyes focus quicker. 

“Okay, can you walk?” Rhodey. It’s Rhodey standing in the doorway, standing guard in his suit. He came too?

“Um…maybe.” There’s an old ache in his ankle that feels not-quite-healed. Or wrongly healed.

“I got you,” Mr Stark says gently, and lifts Peter into his arms before he has a chance to protest, holds him carefully against his chestplate. “We’ll take care of everything on the jet. You’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again. Who knows what damage he’s already done, hacking into the aervers? Who knows what his captors saw?

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Mr Stark says firmly. “Me, on the other hand—couldn’t even find my kid for two months…”

Two months. It feels longer and shorter all at the same time.

“But there is nothing you need to be sorry for, okay? Nothing.”

Peter wishes he could believe him. 

* * *

“There’s some old bruising here, but his healing should take care of it…the ankle’s a worry, but fixable…”

The voice washes over Peter as he lies on the cot in the Quinjet. After all that time being cut off from his senses, everything is all _so much._

Voices. Engines rumbling. Air hitting the cockpit windows. Mr Stark’s heartbeat. Fabric against the back of his arms. Bright lights. A hand passing over his forehead—

He jerks away, panic tightening his chest—and stops when he meets Mr Stark’s gaze. Hurt. Sorrow.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters again. 

“No touch, got it.” He steps back. “You hungry?”

Peter thinks he might be, but he’s so used to not eating enough. “Maybe, like, a snack.”

“One of your extra special protein bars?”

“Yeah.”

Mr Stark hands it to him, a gentle smile on his face. Peter tries to drink in the expression one last time, and holds his secret to his chest. He’s not ready to let it go yet.

* * *

He wakes up slowly, comfortable. It feels alien.

But May is there, pulling him into a tight embrace, and he hides his face against her shoulder and closes his eyes. “It’s so good to see you, honey.”

“You too.”

She pulls away, carefully takes his chin in one hand. Peter tenses, and she frowns a little. “I know it might take you a while to be okay, but you will be. And Tony and I are gonna be right with the whole time.”

Well, until his secret comes out.

* * *

“…not right, Tony. He looks so guilty whenever I talk to him.”

Peter keeps his eyes closed, his breathing even. 

“When I found him, he wouldn’t stop apologising.”

A sigh. He recognises it as May’s. “I wish we could figure out—or _know_ what happened.”

“Maybe it’s best we don’t.” Mr Stark’s voice is strangled. “Don’t get me wrong, he needs to talk about it, but it doesn’t have to be us he tells.”

“What did you see? Where they had him?”

A pause. “Rhodey won’t tell me.”

* * *

Rhodey visits, bringing burgers, and Peter relaxes into the conversation as he eats.

“So Tony’s bugging me.”

Peter swallows his mouthful. “You saw the room.”

Rhodey’s gaze holds nothing but compassion. Trying to give him comfort he doesn’t deserve.

“Don’t tell him.” 

To his relief, Rhodey shakes his head. “That’s yours. It happened to you. But don’t—bottle it up, either. Like Tony does. Last thing you need.”

* * *

His hospital room is quiet, except for the TV on the wall playing Blue Planet. Apparently, water eases stress and helps people relax. It’s worked on May, at least; she’s asleep on the couch in the corner.

Mr Stark sits in the chair beside Peter’s bed, one hand in his hair, watching dolphins sliding through the water. He smells of coffee and Medbay soap and Peter might burst with shame if he hides this any longer. 

_Don’t bottle it up._

“Mr Stark?”

“My young Padawan.”

He’s going to miss that. All the nicknames, all the time they spent together, eating takeout. “I…”

“What’s up?”

“When you got the signal—for where I was—I…I didn’t mean to do that.”

A frown.

“That wasn’t me…calling for help. That was me doing what they wanted.”

Mr Stark stares at him for a long moment, completely silent, and Peter has to look away. There’s so much pain there, so much hurt, and Peter put it there, he did that, he betrayed him—

Then a shaky exhale, a, “Shit, kid,” and he’s being hugged.

He tenses against the unexpected touch, but Mr Stark holds him, chin resting onthe top of his head, and Peter is horrified to realise he’s crying into Mr Stark’s probably-very-expensive sweater. “Sorry—sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No—Peter, you’re okay. No sorries. Nothing to be sorry for.”

“But—”

Mr Stark pulls away, his hands still on Peter’s shoulders. “Do you know how long I lasted in Afghanistan.”

“…what?”

“Five minutes. Ten, if we’re being generous.”

Peter frowns, wiping his eyes. “You had—a car battery wired to your chest. You didn’t even do what they wanted.”

“Did you? Do what they wanted!”

“Yes!” Peter cries. May stirs in her sleep.

“Really? Because it looked like you gave them access to the most useless part of FRIDAY and sent up a smoke signal that let us find you.” Mr Stark grins. “Hope they had fun with all my playlists. And Pep’s.”

“I didn’t know that, though.” He’s not getting it, and each second waiting for the penny to drop is excruciating. “I was helping them, Mr Stark. I…” _Broke._

“You were a kid in a horrific situation and you held out for two months. They got nothing. I got you back. Nothing else to worry about.”

“But they could’ve—”

“But they _didn’t_. And you didn’t do anything willingly. They hurt you. They _tortured_ you, Peter. They kept you locked in a room, or cuffed to a chair. So you—“ Mr Stark rests a hand on the top of his head again, “—are not to blame for anything that happened. Get that through your big brain.”

Mr Stark doesn’t hate him. Peter relaxes, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

“So, if your stomach is up to it, I think it’s takeout time. Something plain for you. And enough for your favourite aunt.”

“Egg noodles?”

“Beansprouts?”

“The whole works. Please.”

“You got it.” A pause. “Listen, kid—don’t ever think I wouldn’t come for you. I saw your face,” he continues, when Peter opens his mouth to protest. “You were— _surprised_. Like I wasn’t going out of my mind. Like May and I weren’t spiralling. Like I wasn’t looking for you every single second.”

“I thought…” Peter sighs. “I thought you’d be mad.”

“Never. Not for this. And I will always, always look for you and I’ll always, always find you.” Mr Stark cups his cheek for a brief second before he moves away, pulling out his phone. “Noodles for you. Black bean chicken for May?”

“Yeah.”

“Rhodey likes his sweet and sour prawns, Pep will have anything spicy—you feel up to something else? Soup, maybe?”

“Chicken soup?”

“And sweetcorn. You get all that, Fri? Add a few rices in. We have a hungry Spider-kid here.”

_“I’ve added everything you asked for, Boss. Anything else?”_

“Let me know when it’s here.”

_“Of course.”_

“Now.” Mr Stark sits back in his chair, a gentle hand around the back of Peter’s neck, and nods at the paused television. “I hear water and fishes are excellent for relaxation.”


	6. Car Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just been outsmarted by someone who I’ve seen eat pizza out of the garbage?”
> 
> “It was still in the _box_ ,” Peter says, feeling Tony’s eye roll as he continues, “and are you really outsmarted if you already lost before you even called?”
> 
> “Listen here you little shit,” Tony says playfully, Peter just laughing as he watches the snow fall.
> 
> “Don’t worry about it, Tony. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

_BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ._

_BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ._

_BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ._

Peter groaned into his pillow, haphazardly reaching for his phone only to cause some of the junk he still had on the box he was using as an end table to fall, including his phone from the loud thump on the floor. Tony had said on more than one occasion that he’d buy him furniture and Peter had, every single time, said no.

  
He rethinks that decision as he frowns at the phone on the ground. 

“Shit,” Peter mutters to himself, blearily opening his eyes as he glances down and sees the phone-- now disconnected from the charger. He leans over, grabbing it before leaning back on the bed. Peter glances over to the empty side of the bed, frowning for a second before he hears the shower running, turning his attention back to his phone as he adjusts to the screen brightness. 

**May ❤️❤️:** hi sweetheart. are you free this weekend?

 **May ❤️❤️:** ok if you’re not. 

**May ❤️❤️:** how are finals? 

Peter smiles, tapping out a message in reply. 

**Pete** : not doing much other than studying. what’s up?

Peter clicks the phone off, rubbing a hand over his face only to be surprised when his phone buzzes-- bringing it back up to see May’s contact information fly across the screen in a call.

He laughs, thumbing across her info to answer the call before bringing his phone to his ear.

“Morning! Thought this would be quicker, I’m just about to head into FEAST and I wanted to talk to you before the morning got away from me.”

Peter laughs, hearing the water from the shower turn off as he says, “Morning, May. What’s up?” 

“Let me say first that if you can’t because you have too much studying to do, then do _not_ worry about it. Happy and I can figure out--”

“What’s wrong?” Peter says, sitting up as MJ comes in from the bathroom. She smiles at him, only to frown when she must see the expression on Peter’s face.

“Nothing’s wrong, everything is fine,” May says quickly, MJ raising an eyebrow as she brings her hair down, mouthing ‘what’s going on?’ to Peter as his shoulders relax.

He shakes his head, turning his attention back to the phone as he says, “What do you and Happy need to figure out?”

May sighs on the other line, MJ taking his relaxed shoulders as a cue that there wasn’t something imminently wrong as May went on to say, “You know how we were supposed to go up and check on Tony this weekend, since Morgan had that swim meet?” 

“Yeah, Tony’s been a pain in the ass about it, saying he doesn’t need a babysitter,” Peter snickers to himself, catching MJ smile in the mirror reflection as she puts on the black dahlia necklace that Peter was able to give her years ago. “He’s getting crankier in his old age.” 

“Watch it buster,” May says, Peter laughing as he runs a hand through his hair, “I’m just a few months older than him.”

“You are aging with all the grace in the world,” Peter says with a grin, MJ laughing to herself as she turns back to Peter.

“Dig yourself out quick, Parker.”

Peter sticks his tongue at her as May says, “Is that MJ? Put me on speaker.”

”You called _me_ remember?” Peter says even if he does what he’s told, May laughing on the other line as MJ walks over.

“I’m glad I caught the both of you, I have a favor to ask.”

“What’s going on?” MJ asks, Peter moving his legs so she can sit across from him on the bed. 

“Happy and I were supposed to go up and check on Tony this weekend since Pepper’s going to be out with Morgan but Happy double-booked a doctor’s appointment that he can’t miss.”

Peter can hear Happy mumbling something in the background, Peter raising an eyebrow as he asks, “What kind of appointment is it?”  
  


“ _Do NOT tell him!_ ” Peter hears Happy say, MJ biting her lip to stop from laughing as May sighs and says, “Happy, it is perfectly normal to have a colon--”

“ _May_!” Happy squawks, Peter snickering as he hears the two of them go back and forth-- putting them on mute as he nods to MJ. “You up for a trip to the cabin this weekend?”

MJ purses her lips, tilting her head as she thinks about it. “Hmm. Study here in our crappy apartment with a broken heater--”

“I’m gonna fix it--” 

“Or holed up in a state of the art cabin of a billionaire who could stand to redistribute their wealth to a couple of college kids? Yeah, _that’s_ gonna be a hard choice,” MJ says with a smile, Peter laughing to himself as he unmutes himself, cutting into May and Happy’s playful squabbling. 

“Hey May? Tell Happy not to worry about it. He’ll be able to get his colonoscopy in peace and MJ and I’ll get a quiet place to study.”

“Are you sure? I can ask around if someone else can take Happy to--”

“May, I do not want anyone else to know that I’m--” Happy begins to argue, Peter holding back a laugh at how exasperated May’s face must be from the way she says, “Don’t listen to Happy, he’s being ridiculous.”

“Just like Stark,” MJ says with a smile, Peter laughing as he says, “Really, May. It’s fine. Might have to borrow Happy’s car though.”

“You can take mine,” May says with a sigh, “ _Someone_ has already made it clear that they want leather seats coming home from the doctor.”

“Thanks May,” Peter says, hearing Happy grumble again. He laughs before he says their goodbyes, clicking the phone off and looking back to MJ.

“You want to leave tonight or tomorrow?” 

“Tonight,” MJ says with a sigh, “it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I’d rather be there then get stuck out on the roads in the morning. Especially with your terrible driving.”

MJ pauses. “On second thought, maybe _I_ should drive.”

Peter frowns as MJ laughs, sitting up and kissing him before she moves to grab her things to leave for the day. “Hey!”

“You suck at driving, Pete,” MJ says matter-of-factly, Peter frowning even if he knows it’s the truth, “Can’t be good at everything, tiger.”

“Can too,” Peter calls out, MJ just playfully rolling her eyes as she walks towards the living room.

Peter laughs, glancing at the time on his phone once again. He’s still got an hour before he has to head to his first class, scrolling through to find the weather and see if he can swing there or should take the subway. He's half convinced just to skip classes for the day, wondering if MJ would be into playing hooky since they're seniors and she's already accepted into grad school.

Only for his phone to begin to ring, TONY STANK flashing across the screen as he laughs. 

“Dominos, what can I get you?” He says as he answers the phone, deciding to be a better student then he has been his entire college career as he whips off the covers off only to hiss with how cold the floor of the apartment is.

“A new family,” Tony deadpans, Peter snickering as he puts his phone in the crook of his shoulder and his neck as he rummages around the floor for his jeans. 

“They’re not _that_ bad. Morgan hasn’t thrown up on you in what, three years?” Peter jokes, sniffing a pair before sliding them on, hearing Tony snort in the background. 

“That’s not who I’m talking about and you know it. I don’t care what May told you, I’m fine. I don’t need someone checking on me.”

“Sure yeah, _totally_ gonna argue with May on this. Especially since Pepper’s the one who asked us all to do it,” Peter says as he slips his feet into the jeans, hearing Tony sigh on the other line. 

“As I told my darling wife, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself for three days,” Tony grumbles as Peter moves the phone to be on speaker as he wanders over to the dresser he and MJ share. 

“You’re such a drama king. You were literally whining the other day that you haven’t seen me in a week--”

“I do _not_ whine--”

“And now you’re whining that I’m coming up?” Peter asks as he shoves a shirt over his head, just catching MJ pop her head back in. 

“I’m heading out. We’re meeting at Ned at Pour Over at what time again?”

“12:30,” Peter says, grabbing the phone and rushing forward to kiss her goodbye.

“Is that Jones?” Tony calls out, Peter feeling her smile on her lips as she kisses him back before saying, “Yeah Stark it’s me. How’s your arm doing?” 

“Perfectly fine, as I’ve told anyone who will _actually_ listen to me. Contrary to what that menace you live with tries to say. I don’t need all this--”

“Sorry, what's that? Bad connection, I gotta go,” MJ says, smirking at Peter who just grins as she winks. “See you tonight!”

“Et tu, Jones?” Tony calls out as MJ laughs, Peter leaning against the door frame as she grabs her backpack and heads out. 

“You really thought _MJ_ was gonna side with you over Pepper? Over _May_?” Peter asks with a laugh as she leaves. 

“Figured I’d try. What’s the point of wanting a little class rebellion if she’s still gonna side with the one percent?”

“Do you _hear_ yourself when you talk?” Peter laughs, shaking his head before glancing at the time on the phone. “Seriously, you’d be doing _us_ a favor. MJ’s got a massive paper due next week and I well,” Peter snorts, “You don’t want to know how much shit I got to catch up on.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Pete,” Tony says, even if Peter can hear the trace sound of interest in his voice. “Not that I don’t love seeing you--”

“Exactly. There’s a snowstorm supposed to hit this weekend, our heater is shit _and_ I haven’t had the chance to go up there in a few weeks,” Peter says, glancing out the window and seeing snow start to lightly fall. “It’s a win, win.”

“Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just been outsmarted by someone who I’ve seen eat pizza out of the garbage?”

“It was still in the _box_ ,” Peter says, _feeling_ Tony’s eye roll as he continues, “and are you really outsmarted if you already lost before you even called?”

“Listen here you little shit,” Tony says playfully, Peter just laughing as he watches the snow fall.

“Don’t worry about it, Tony. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me drive,” Peter says, pouting as he leans back in the front seat of May’s car. They’re an hour of the city now, with just a little under an hour to go before they make it to the cabin. MJ smirks as she adjusts her blinker, changing lanes to take the exit that’ll take them towards the long stretch of highway that’ll lead them to the cabin.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was joking,” she says with a laugh, side glancing at Peter who just rolls his eyes. “How’s Happy doing?”

“Still miserable,” Peter says with no small amount of glee, grabbing his phone out of his pocket as he scrolls through the messages that May sent him. “He can’t eat anything but soup basically and you know how he gets about his Friday gyros.”

MJ laughs as Peter texts Ned back, wishing that he was able to join them for the weekend. It was nice, Peter thought-- that they were able to stick around in the city for college. Before the Blip, it seemed inevitable that they’d all go their separate ways-- to bigger and better things beyond the confines of the same city they’d all grown up in. 

But after the Blip, after a European trip from hell and closely avoiding his identity being outed-- Peter couldn’t imagine leaving the city or leaving _Spider-Man_ \-- glad that ESU had an early admission program and publicly funded scholarships for Blipped kids readjusting to the world. 

The fact that Ned and MJ both took advantage of the same thing, that he and MJ maintained a friendship after their breakup sophomore year and kept it still now that they’ve been together again for the better half of a year made Peter all the more grateful that life had turned out fairly well for them, all things considered. 

As MJ chooses another song on her playlist, holding back a laugh at teasing her for the phone holder that she has attached to May’s air conditioning vents, Peter can’t help but be thankful that even with Tony’s dramatics-- they still had the chance to go and visit him, remembering when even that hadn’t always seemed possible.

Despite Tony’s complaints to the contrary, it _was_ a small miracle that his surgery this time around went off with no complications. Peter remembered all too well those first few weeks after he snapped his fingers at the Compound, spending time in Wakanda to heal and even now almost five years later, requiring surgery to reconnect the nerves in his arm with the metal one he has-- the radiation from the gauntlet slowly working its way to the rest of his body.

Peter actively tries not to think of the day when the radiation will work its way to his heart, when surgery and other treatments won’t be enough to stop it from doing the inevitable.

  
Peter swallows that down and thinks back to some gossip Ned had shared today at lunch about Flash, asking MJ what she thought about it.

The conversation goes back and forth from there before falling into a comfortable silence, one that Peter can tell is due in part because MJ was trying hard to focus on the road ahead of her as the snow started to fall more heavily.

“I thought the storm was coming in overnight,” Peter says, glancing at MJ who frowns as she leans forward. 

“Me too. Can you check and see where it is?” She asks, Peter moving his thumb across the screen to do so when TONY STANK flashes across it again.

He answers it, putting his phone on speaker as MJ presses pause on her music and switches over to the GPS before putting a tight grip back on the steering wheel. 

“Hey Tony.”

“Hey Pete, where you guys at?” 

“Uhh,” Peter says, glancing over to MJ’s phone, “probably about thirty minutes out now. Snow’s coming down hard.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, Peter wondering if he’s sitting on the couch like he’s supposed to or looking out the window of the living room as he says, “Not so good over here either. Got a neighbor kid to shovel the driveway yesterday but you can’t tell by the looks of it now.”

Usually MJ would joke about Tony having neighbors to begin with but Peter can feel her uneasiness as she leans forward, adjusting the windshield wipers as she focuses on the road ahead. Peter tries to ease the tension he can feel, joking as he says, “Are you actually staring out the window or did FRIDAY tell you that?”

Tony clearly knows MJ just as well since he doesn’t press the issue with her either, joking as he says, “What’s it gonna matter, when it seems as if you’ve already decided the answer?” 

Peter laughs, only for his phone to start beeping at him. “Shit, where’s my charger?”

“Use mine,” MJ says distractedly, Peter unclicking his seatbelt as he shakes his head. “Nah, you need yours for the GPS. I got a battery backup in the back.”

He leans towards the back, reaching for his backpack as Tony says, “If you had a StarkPhone, you’d never have to worry about battery life.”

Peter laughs, extending his arm for his backpack before grabbing it-- pulling it with him to the front. 

“Yeah, but then--” Peter cuts himself off with his senses screaming at him, not even a second passing before MJ gasps when a deer jumps into the road. 

MJ jerks the wheel out of the way, narrowly avoiding hitting the deer only for the steering wheel to lock up— skidding across the road as it begins to hydroplane.

Peter doesn’t even get the chance to scream, sending a hand out to protect MJ just as the car hits a patch of ice. The car flips, Peter’s other hand tightening on his phone. He hears Tony’s voice call out before he grips too hard-- crushing the phone into pieces as the car veers off the road and flips towards the ditch.

There’s glass, crunching metal everywhere, and a feeling of weightlessness that Peter knows all too well--

Then darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 next Friday. 


	7. 'I didn't mean it'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos filled Tony’s vision—mud and movement and flashes of lightning. Men shouted and a gunshot split the air, just one of several he’d already heard in the last thirty seconds or so. Adrenaline filled his limbs with nervous energy and his heart thundered wildly in his chest.
> 
> And he wasn’t even there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings/tags: Graphic depictions of violence, Not Endgame compliant (Tony lives)  
> No cliffhanger or MCD! (Also side-eyes Seeksak... *respectfully*) <3 XD
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~Solstice

Chaos filled Tony’s vision—mud and movement and flashes of lightning. Men shouted and a gunshot split the air, just one of several he’d already heard in the last thirty seconds or so. Adrenaline filled his limbs with nervous energy and his heart thundered wildly in his chest.

And he wasn’t even there.

“FRIDAY, do we have any CCTV feeds nearby?” he asked, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. With Peter’s acrobatics, it was nearly impossible to get a handle on what was happening through the baby monitor feed alone. But by the sounds of Peter’s panicked breathing, he could tell it wasn’t good. 

In lieu of a verbal answer, FRIDAY brought up a second feed alongside Peter’s. It looked to be from a security camera across the street, and finally Tony got a steady look at the situation—and he was right. It wasn’t good. 

Cascading sheets of rain made it difficult to see, but the lot Peter was fighting in looked to be a junkyard of sorts, surrounded by a chain link fence. Damaged, rusted cars and trucks crowded the area and the ground was littered with haphazard piles of old tires. It was lit only by the orangey-yellow glow of a nearby streetlamp.

Whatever Peter had stumbled upon, it was too much for him. That much was clear. There were too many men, they were too violent, they were armed, and they were aiming to kill. And Peter was injured; Tony didn’t need a report from Karen to see that. Despite retaining some of his agility, he wasn’t moving right. One of his legs was weighing him down and he wasn’t moving as fast as he should have been. 

A single well-aimed punch to the chest sent Peter slamming violently into the side of a nearby car, and with a sinking feeling Tony realized that—in addition to everything else—at least one of the men must be enhanced.

Peter was at least wearing the Iron Spider suit over his regular one, but whatever happened before FRIDAY alerted Tony to the situation had left the nanobots in disarray. They swarmed and struggled to cover his entire body, always leaving a piece of him vulnerable. They collected at his shoulder in time to deflect a bullet, but in doing so left an area of his side exposed, the bright red Stark suit flashing underneath like a beacon. A shot was fired at the glaring weak spot and only a last second jerk from Peter saved him from taking the bullet right in the ribs. 

The nanobots belatedly rushed to cover that area as well, only to expose his other side. The enhanced man immediately took advantage and landed a heavy hit. Peter gave a sharp cry and doubled over. FRIDAY reported a cracked rib. 

_ Shit. _ Tony chewed hard on the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between the two camera feeds. Even if he were physically able to fight—he gripped his right arm out of spite, pain spiking down the still-healing limb—he would never make it in time. Things were going downhill for Peter fast, and in his Manhattan penthouse, Tony was too far away from his working suits to swoop in like he used to. 

The men crowded closer to Peter; vicious and incapacitating blows with fists and crowbars not allowing him any room to rise. Another shot rang out and again Peter barely managed to twist away. 

_ “Karen!” _ Peter called frantically, but didn’t follow with any direction or request. He was breathing fast, hyperventilating, clearly past the ability to think rationally. He struggled to his feet once, slipping in the mud, but another powerful hit to the side of his head from the enhanced man sent him straight back to the ground. FRIDAY reported a mild concussion. 

The man grabbed Peter by the neck and lifted him to his knees, saying something that Tony didn’t have the presence of mind to make out. He held a hand out and one of the other men passed him a gun. Peter made a grab for it but someone else snatched his arm, someone that must have been enhanced as well, because no matter how hard Peter appeared to pull, he couldn’t get his arm free. 

_ He’s not going to make it, _ Tony realized suddenly, panic streaming like ice water through his veins. 

Peter made a pitiful, choked off noise as the man held the gun against his sternum. 

Nope. 

“Karen, activate instant kill mode!”

It was as though she had been just waiting for Tony’s command, with the speed at which she acted. Longing for it, even, if such a thing was possible for an AI. But then, while he programmed her to obey Peter, he also programmed her to hold his life above all others. 

Tony looked at Peter’s feed in time to see a golden spike punch outward from the enhanced man’s chest, blood splattering over Peter’s face. The boy jerked in shock, sucking in a horrified gasp as even more blood bubbled out from the man’s mouth. Then the spike retreated and the man toppled over, revealing the full golden spider leg. It curled upward, dripping with rain water and blood, poised to strike at any man who stepped within range. 

A glance at the CCTV feed told Tony that the other men who had been grabbing at Peter had been knocked back but not killed. The four golden legs curled protectively over the young man, who sat on his heels, hands planted in the mud and breathing fast. Lightning flickered briefly over the scene, casting everything in harsh white light before going dark again. 

The surrounding group had scrambled back a few yards and now stood loosely, eyeing the deadly legs with trepidation as thunder chased the lightning through the streets. One of the men took an experimental shot at Peter. He ducked, but the nearest spider leg had already darted out to block the bullet. It ricocheted away with a metallic  _ ping,  _ missing one of the other men by mere inches. 

That seemed to be as far as the attackers were willing to go in their effort to kill Spider-Man. They broke up and scattered, retreating into the shadows of nearby sidestreets.

Peter was left alone in the rain with the dead body. After a few seconds, he reached tentatively out - hand shaking - to check for a pulse. Tony’s stomach gave a sickening twist as the repercussions of what just happened began to settle in. 

_ “I didn’t mean to…” _ Peter said, voice high and wavering.  _ “I didn’t mean it, I… Karen, I didn’t tell you to do that! I didn’t want to do that!” _

“FRIDAY, call him,” Tony said hurriedly, then took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He needed to move fast before the kid spiraled. 

Peter staggered to his feet, one hand wrapped tightly around his broken rib. He stared down at the body in horror, eyes glued to the gory, gaping hole in the man’s chest.  _ “I didn’t want to kill him! Why did you do that?” _

_ “I’m sorry Peter, instant kill mode was activated remotely,” _ Karen informed. She retracted the legs without prompting, folding them into their housing unit on his back.  _ “It was for your protection.” _

_ “Remotely,” _ Peter repeated, though Tony couldn’t quite tell if the word was even registering.  _ “Remotely… I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want to do that.” _

_ “Incoming call from Tony Stark.” _

_ “From...?”  _

“Peter.” Tony spoke as soon as he heard the line connect, but immediately had no idea what to say. He had nothing planned. “Are you okay?”  _ Stupid question. _

_ “Mister…” _ Peter trailed off again, but it was different this time—the sound of Tony’s voice seemed to snap him out of his daze. But for better or for worse it also seemed to make the words ‘activated remotely’ finally click in his head, because the next thing to come through the line was a surprisingly sharp,  _ “fuck!” _ before he retracted the Iron Spider mask and the call was disconnected. The baby monitor feed went black. 

“Fuck,” Tony echoed quietly. He turned back to the security camera to see Peter clutching at his hair, still staring down at the body. Lightning flickered once more and Peter shifted, stumbling a little bit and then turning around to lean an arm on a rusted car. His other hand returned to his midsection and for a moment Tony feared the kid was going to be sick. 

“Call his cell.”

The Iron Spider suit retracted fully and Peter ripped the housing unit off, leaving him in the Stark suit. 

“His cell phone isn’t on him,” FRIDAY replied. “Do you still want me to call it?”

He must have left it wherever he stashed his backpack and clothes. 

Once more, Tony was left with no idea how to proceed. There was little chance that Peter would stand there long enough for Tony to reach him by car. He watched the boy pull at the collar of the Stark suit like he wanted to get that off too. Then suddenly he was moving - sprinting a few steps and shooting a web at a nearby building. He yanked himself into the air and disappeared off the edge of the screen.

Tony stared dumbly at the scene in his absence, his heart growing more and more heavy as the seconds ticked by. He would need to contact Happy. Maybe even SHIELD. Get a team out to the site and decide how to handle it. 

A map of New York City popped up on Tony’s computer screen as FRIDAY intuitively began tracking Peter. His dot was moving to the northeast, but after only about three blocks it stopped again. Tony’s eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s reached his cell phone and has taken off the Stark Suit, boss.” 

“Call him.” 

About fifteen seconds went by, then the dot started moving again. Tony’s call went to voicemail, unanswered.

“Fuck,” Tony murmured again. 

Should he drive out to Peter’s apartment? Should he wait? Try calling him again in the morning? Let Peter contact him when he was ready? He had a big problem with that last option. Letting Peter stew meant he might begin to question who was at fault. The kid knew exactly how intuitive the Iron Spider was and might begin to wonder whether he had subconsciously wished for his attacker to be killed. 

But the question as to what to do next was answered for him when FRIDAY spoke again. 

“He’s heading straight for you, boss.”

_ “Really?” _

“Yes, and moving fast.”

“Oh,” Tony replied, an unexpected feeling of apprehension crawling just under his skin. He focused on Peter’s dot on the map again to confirm. “Okay, good.” Good, except of course that he was moving fast while injured, swinging between skyscrapers in civilian clothes in a thunderstorm. 

Tony turned from the screens and left the room, passing through the penthouse’s open kitchen and into the large living area. Floor to ceiling windows took up the opposite wall, with a glass door leading out to a covered balcony that overlooked New York. FRIDAY brought the lights up gently for him as he gravitated towards the windows. 

The rain didn’t quite reach the glass but he could see it coming down just beyond the balcony like a blurry, constantly-shifting veil between him and the rest of the city. 

Aside from the storm outside, the living area was quiet; his socked feet nearly silent on the carpet as he drew closer. Anticipation had his heart beating quickly. He and Peter hadn’t had any outright confrontations for years. At least for Tony it had been years. Peter had only been back from the snap for about four months and after mourning him for so long, the idea of being on anything but good terms with him left a pit in Tony’s stomach. 

He reached the glass door but paused, waiting. Even as fast as Peter was moving, it would take him a couple minutes to get there. He tried to imagine what must be going through Peter’s mind, but it only made the knot in his gut twist tighter and tighter. The kid always tried so hard to not take human lives, and as far as Tony knew he never had, not even accidentally. 

Tony hardly knew what he was feeling, either. It was hard to catch up with himself when seemingly just minutes ago he had been simply going through his inbox, lamenting the fact that he had to spend the night away from Pepper and Morgan. Then he’d gotten an emergency alert, opened Peter’s feed to find him seconds away from death,  _ killed  _ a man, and now faced an injured, angry, and no doubt totally overwhelmed spider-kid racing towards him.

He took a breath and opened the glass door, the wind immediately pushing a few stray droplets into his face and catching in the sides of his open zip up sweatshirt. He took a step out, but before he could even begin to search the surrounding high rises for a sight of the young man, there was the telltale  _ thunk  _ of Peter landing against the side of the building somewhere above him. Then the boy swung down to land with a splash on unsteady legs just inside the railing of the balcony. His eyes zeroed in on Tony’s with uncharacteristically wild intensity. 

“You made me  _ kill  _ someone!” he immediately yelled above the sound of the storm, almost before he even had his feet under him. He was absolutely drenched, wearing just a white undershirt, jeans, and his backpack. His hair was a wet, wind-blown mess. 

Tony drew in a deep breath through his nose, meeting Peter’s gaze steadily and willing his heart to slow down its race. “You didn’t kill-”

“You saw it happen, I know you were watching!” A gust of wind shifted the direction of the rain to spray over the shaking boy, and he staggered a bit on his bad leg before gripping the railing with one hand. “He’s dead! I’m not supposed to kill people! I didn’t want to kill him!”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Yes I did! I checked!”

_ “You _ didn’t do it, Peter!” Tony let go of the door to take a step closer, and it swung closed behind him. “Okay?  _ I _ killed someone,” he continued, hitting his own chest for emphasis. “ _ I _ did. Not you.”

For a few moments Peter just shook his head, eyes still bright with pain and anger. There was a dark bruise forming high on one of his cheekbones and a long scrape across his temple and part of his forehead that would surely be bleeding more heavily if only the rain would let it.

“Come inside,” Tony tried, hoping to at least coax him out of the storm, but Peter didn’t acknowledge his invitation.

“You  _ used  _ me to-”

_ “No. _ I used the suit. The one I designed and built to keep you alive.”

Peter’s jaw clenched and then he whipped the backpack off his shoulders, wincing openly at the movement, and yanked the Stark suit and Iron Spider housing unit out with one hand. He held them out accusingly. “How am I supposed to wear these knowing Karen can just kill someone without my consent at any time? That  _ you  _ can kill anyone I’m fighting at any time?”

“I didn’t do that on a whim!” Tony took a step toward him, his voice raising. Cold rainwater began to soak into his socks. “He was seconds away from pulling the trigger!” 

“The suit would have deflected the bullet!” Peter countered but his eyebrows scrunched together, confidence waning. 

“You wanna bet? That suit was all over the place and there were at  _ least  _ two other guys with guns trained on you.”

Peter didn’t seem to have an answer for that and for a few seconds just stood and stared, arm dropping to hold the suits down by his side in a tight fist. Even with the wind, rain, and questionable lighting, Tony could clearly see that hand shaking. It wasn’t surprising, between the multiple injuries, the anger, and the shock, but Tony still had to consciously resist the urge to go straight to him and just… hug him, drag him inside, put him in warm clothes, patch him up,  _ fix  _ him. 

He reached back and opened the door again. “Please Pete, just come inside. We can talk there.”

Peter’s shoulders shook briefly in what had to be a cold shiver, but once again he didn’t acknowledge the invitation. “How can I call myself a good guy if I start putting my own life above others?” he said, some of the angry edge to his tone softening. 

“Listen to me, Peter. If you’re in a situation like that and there is a way to get out of it without killing anyone, then you take it. But you’re not always going to have that choice. It’s an unfortunate reality of the world, especially  _ our  _ world. And if it’s between you and some bad guy who’s actively trying to kill you, then you need to do whatever it takes to live.”

The fire that had begun to ease out of Peter’s expression snapped right back into place. “How can you say that when you sacrifice yourself all the time? You  _ did  _ sacrifice yourself! You flew up into the wormhole with the nuke! You snapped with the gauntlet expecting that you would die!”

“Pete, what almost just happened wasn’t going to be you sacrificing yourself for the greater good. It was going to be  _ murder. _ Nothing was going to come from it but grief and pain. Big difference.”

Peter seemed frozen in place, shoulders tensed and face still set with anger like he didn’t know how to exist outside of it. Like he was afraid to let it go, afraid to face the other emotion that Tony could see hovering just behind his eyes. 

Fear. Shock. This anger-fueled adrenaline high he was in the throws of wasn’t going to last much longer. The injuries and exhaustion were going to take over and he was going to crash.

Tony held his gaze but kept his voice soft and hoped he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake. “Peter... you almost died just now. You almost got shot.”

Peter’s breathing immediately picked up. Another gust of wind sent rain spraying over him but he hardly even blinked.

“You almost died.”  _ Again. _

Peter’s eyebrows twitched inward, his fist tightening on the suits down by his side. He brought his other hand up slowly and robotically and touched his fingers to his sternum - right where the man had held the barrel of the gun against him. 

Then, without warning, a deafening  _ CRACK _ split the air and blinding white light illuminated the city as a lightning bolt struck the roof of the building next to theirs. Tony’s heart nearly stopped dead in his chest and Peter reflexively lurched toward him a step. Their gazes never left each other and in that single moment, Tony saw in Peter’s eyes the most pure display of panic and grief he had ever witnessed. For that split second in which he touched his sternum and heard the crack, he was back in the junkyard, only the man had pulled the trigger. 

The blinding light blinked out and the thunder turned into a rumble and dissipated back into the storm. Tony’s eyes were wide, his heart still pounding as Peter broke his gaze off to stare at the ground. His hand remained splayed over his sternum as he took a moment to rein himself back in, breathing heavily and closing his eyes.

“Okay.” The quiet word left Tony’s mouth seemingly on its own. “Please come inside.”

Peter pitched forward and Tony briefly thought he was passing out, but he just grabbed the strap of his sopping wet backpack from the ground and straightened again. His eyes flickered up to Tony’s for just a moment before averting once more. The anger was returning, but it was tempered now - by fatigue, a begrudging admittance of priorities, and - of all things - a touch of embarrassment. Instead of the live-wire ball of fury that had landed on Tony’s balcony, he now looked more like a puppy who had fallen into a pool and didn’t know how to swim.

Tony couldn’t help an inward cheer of victory as Peter limped toward him. Admittedly surprised to find he was still holding the door, Tony opened it wider to allow Peter to pass by him. 

Peter was finally almost inside when he stopped again and dropped his things to the ground. Without looking Tony in the eye, he turned quietly into him - arms winding slowly and carefully around Tony’s midsection and head coming to rest on Tony’s shoulder. 

Warmth and relief and affection flooded Tony’s heart so fast that he was sure it was going to burst. He immediately let his foot take the weight of the door so he could wrap both arms tightly around Peter in return. Almost right away he felt the young man’s waterlogged clothes seeping through his own, the cold rainwater in his hair trickling down Tony’s neck when he pressed the side of his head into Peter’s, but he just held him closer. 

“Thank you,” Peter said, his voice just above a whisper and heavy with emotion. It was all he said, but Tony knew him more than well enough to hear the rest.  _ I may not like the way you did it, but thank you for saving my life. Thank you for doing what I can’t bring myself to do. _

“We’re going to talk more when you’re dry and fixed up, but I want you to remember this one thing for me, Peter,” Tony replied. He drew back just far enough to hold Peter by the shoulders and look him in the eyes. “You might not think that your life has more value than someone else’s, but I’m here to tell you that it does.” Peter looked away but Tony squeezed his shoulders to draw his gaze back. “Your life isn’t just you, kid. It’s all the lives you’re going to save in the future. So between a criminal and however many innocent lives will be saved because of you…”

Peter looked down again but then nodded. There was so much more to be said, so much more to talk through. But for now, Tony just drew him back in for another hug. 

“I don’t have enough web fluid to get home,” Peter mumbled into Tony’s shoulder. “Can I stay here tonight?” 

Tony snorted fondly. As pissed and upset as the kid was, he came to Tony knowing he didn’t have any easy way to get home after that. Knowing that Tony would take care of him no matter what. He planted a quick kiss on the side of Peter’s head and didn’t miss the tiny smile that came over the kid’s face in response. “I suppose you can.”

“I’m going to ruin your carpet.”

“I know.” He wrapped a gentle arm over Peter’s shoulders and guided him at last into the warmth of the penthouse, leaving the rain and wind behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are like millet seeds to my parakeet! (He consumes them like crack and is happy for a long time afterwards) <3


	8. 'I can't lose you too'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been one full week. A week since Peter had disappeared on patrol. A week of Tony putting all his resources and energy into the search, with nothing to show for it. Peter’s suit was completely offline, there had been no video evidence they could identify, and all Spider-Man’s typical foes were accounted for. It was as if the kid had disappeared into thin air. 
> 
> But then, it had arrived, just before midnight. An untraceable voice message sent straight to Tony’s personal cell—a number very few people in the world had, but that he’d made Peter memorize.
> 
> _“Come get the kid, Stark. But make it fast, I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: non-consensual drug use, gunshot wounds, medical inaccuracies, threat of death
> 
> Shout-out to SFA for sending me the prompt which inspired this one! Also, thank you to Bethany and Polly for the betas and hype, and my fellow collab ladies for your support as always <3

“Tony, wait! We need to secure the perimeter first.”

“Stark, you can’t just–”

“FRIDAY, increase thrusters,” Tony says, resolutely ignoring Steve and Sam.

A more resigned voice adds through the comms, “Just try to be careful, Tones. We don’t even know if this lunatic is still around. It could be a trap.”

“Always am, honeybear,” Tony says, tone light despite the absolute desperate need singing in his heart as he flies across the city toward Peter’s location.

It had been one full week. A week since Peter had disappeared on patrol. A week of Tony putting all his resources and energy into the search, with nothing to show for it. Peter’s suit was completely offline, there had been no video evidence they could identify, and all Spider-Man’s typical foes were accounted for. It was as if the kid had disappeared into thin air. 

Worst of all, neither himself nor May had ever received a note, or a mysterious emailed link, or even a request for ransom. Tony had taken more than enough abduction management and hostage survival training courses to know that zero communication from the kidnappers was a bad sign. Hell, _bad sign_ didn’t even come close to covering it. It was almost always an automatic death sentence.

Waking up in bed on the seventh morning since Peter had been taken, Tony had almost let himself believe that the kid could have been murdered, his body left in some decrepit place to rot, and nobody any the wiser of Spider-Man’s final fate.

But then, it had arrived, just before midnight. An untraceable voice message sent straight to Tony’s personal cell—a number very few people in the world had, but that he’d made Peter memorize.

_“Come get the kid, Stark. But make it fast, I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”_

A follow-up text with an address had been sent a minute later. Tony had taken off in the suit right then and there, while Rhodey, Sam and Steve were in a quinjet right behind him.

The address belonged to a residential home in Brooklyn, Rhodey informed the group—and Tony by comm—during the short trip. A regular middle-class rowhouse, built in 1966. Currently owned by forty-four year-old John Wright, a police detective who’d been on extended leave since his wife and son had both passed away the year before—bone cancer and a bodega robbery shooting, respectively. The son had only been seventeen.

Tony listened to these details but barely spared a thought to them, his mind focused solely on recovering Peter. Once the kid was back with his aunt, safe and sound—then Tony would consider the kidnapper. But right now, only Peter matters.

And so Tony doesn’t wait to enter the home with the others—just quickly breaks the front door deadlock and barges in.

As it turns out he doesn’t even have to search the place because there, not ten feet away, halfway down the main hallway that runs parallel with the second floor staircase of this very regular house, is Peter. 

The kid is tied to a chair with a single rope, barely conscious, wearing nothing but what look to be a pair of old sweats. His face and torso are covered in bruises and cuts, but that’s not the immediate issue. No, the immediate issue is the gunshot wound on his upper left chest, blood steadily trickling out of it and running in rivulets across his marred skin to pool in his lap and on the hardwood floor below.

“Pete!” Tony says, rushing forward and kneeling down to get eye-level with the teen. Bloodshot eyes blink tiredly back at him. “How you doin’, bud?”

“Hey, M’sr Stark,” Peter replies, voice wrecked and slightly slurred. Despite his horrific injuries, a week of what looks to be near-constant torture and—going by his clearly dilated pupils—a superhero-sized cocktail of drugs, he still manages to give Tony a lazy smile. “Long time… no see.”

Tony shakes his head, patting Peter’s face affectionately. Dammit, this kid is gonna be the death of him, he just knows it. 

“FRIDAY, are we alone?” Tony asks quietly, eyes scanning the front room for any hidden threat even as his hands work to undo the ropes securing Peter.

“Yes, boss. My sensors aren’t picking up anyone else in the house besides yourself and Peter.”

 _This is too easy_ , a voice in the back of Tony’s mind says, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing to untangle the kid until he all but collapses into Tony’s arms. Peter immediately relaxes into his hold, Tony scooping him up into a bridal carry. When he glances down at Peter’s face again, he sees the kid’s eyes are now closed.

“Hey, look alive, kid,” Tony says—immediately wincing at his poor choice of words. “You gotta stay awake.”

“‘M tired,” Peter mumbles, only for his eyes to go suddenly wide. His head rolls to the side as he tries to focus on Tony. “B-bombs… M’sr S’ark—the guy, he… bombs!”

“You’re saying there are bombs planted around here?” Tony asks him, Peter nodding vigorously, mouth moving but no words coming out. The kid is higher than a kite, or at least, Tony hopes that’s why he’s so out of it. If it’s blood loss causing this…

Tony forces the thought away. “Don’t worry Pete, we’ll handle it. Nobody’s getting blown up today.”

As if Tony’s words are permission, Peter passes out completely, going totally limp.

“Peter?” Tony asks, then when there’s no response, “shit.” 

It’s just then that the others arrive, Tony turning to face the open front door to see the quinjet out on the residential street, bright light pouring out through the main hull entrance and silhouetting Steve, Sam and Rhodey in turn as they enter the house.

Sam goes straight to the pair, visually assessing Peter and doing a quick scan of the bloody floor just beyond while Steve and Rhodey examine the larger room.

“Was he conscious at all?” Sam asks.

“Just passed out now,” Tony replies, then turning to Rhodey and Steve, “He told me the guy left bombs around the house, or maybe even outside. I’m not sure.”

“We’re on it,” Rhodey replies. “You two get Peter onto the quinjet, get that wound taken care of.”

Tony doesn’t verbally respond, just gives his best friend a nod of thanks before heading back outside—Sam keeping step with him and pressing down hard on Peter’s wound.

He’s grateful to see that while there are now lights on in some of the neighboring houses, nobody has wandered out yet to see what’s going on. But just to be on the safe side, he orders the suit into sentry mode, leaving it to stand guard while he and Sam get Peter safely inside and laid out on the gurney in the tiny medical suite. 

“Switch with me on the count of three. One, two, three!” Sam says, Tony sliding his hands firmly in place over the bloody wound while Sam lets up and expertly begins to pull out supplies, hooking Peter up to the lone vital signs monitor.

“Why is he still bleeding like this? Shouldn’t it be slowing, or healing?” Tony asks, feeling warm liquid continue to pulse out from underneath his palm, landing on the metal gurney at Peter’s side.

“Considering the amount of needle marks on his neck, they've probably been dosing him all week to subdue his powers,” Sam replies as he prepares a tray. “And judging by the way even his smallest cuts are still bleeding, I’m gonna bet blood thinners were also on the menu.”

Tony glances at the kid’s neck for the first time and sees the small red marks, and sure enough, the more shallow cuts continue to bleed sluggishly. He presses down harder on the bullet wound, but all that seems to do is make it gush more. _“Shit.”_

“Tony, I know this looks bad, but as long as we get that bleeding stopped right now, Pete will be fine,” Sam reassures him, voice as smooth and professional as he always is in a crisis. “Now I’m going to need you to let go of the pressure so I can pack the wound.”

Tony takes a shaky breath, eyes fixed on his mentee. Peter looks so pale, like if he loses even an ounce more blood he might…

_Hang in there Pete. I can’t lose you too, kid._

“Tony!” Sam snaps, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. “You have to step back, and let me do my job. I promise I won’t let anything happen to him.”

With a shaky nod Tony forces himself to release his hands from Peter’s wound. He turns around, about to go find a blanket—Peter’s shivering on top of everything else—only for a man to step out of the shadows of the cockpit, striding forward with a rifle in his hand. 

“What the hell?” Tony exclaims, Sam glancing sharply up from where he’s just pressing gauze down over Peter’s wound with one hand, the other reaching for the supply tray.

“Don’t move,” the man says, swinging his aim from Tony to Peter.

“Wait—wait!” Tony cries out, taking a step forward only for the rifle to move back to him. 

“I said, don’t. Move.” 

“You’re John Wright,” Sam says, and it’s not a question.

“I am,” Wright confirms, glancing back over at him but keeping his gun trained on Tony. “And I’m here to finish my job, just the way I told the kid I would.”

“What way is that, exactly?” Tony asks, desperate to keep Wright’s focus on himself. 

“With people who care about him watching him die,” Wright says, “just like my son had to feel my pain as I watched the life leave his eyes.”

“That’s why you’ve done this? What, because Spider-Man happened to not stop one singular robbery in a city with a population of _millions?”_ Tony asks incredulously.

“Spider-Man _did_ stop that robbery,” Wright responds, “but my son still died. You know why? Because while Spidey here was busy making sure some old woman who’d already had a long life didn’t get her head blown off, the second robber shot my kid point-blank in the chest.”

Tony swallows gravely, remembering now Peter talking about that incident, months and months ago. He’d felt terrible that a kid not much older than him—the clerk at the bodega that night, as it happened—had died on his watch. Tony and May had both assured him at the time that he’d done the best he could, that sometimes you couldn’t save everyone, but it hadn’t mattered to Peter. The kid’s conscience had always carried more than its fair share. Which just made what was happening right now even more _unfair,_ in Tony’s mind.

“You know what Tommy said to me, just before he took his last breath?” Wright continues, tone laced with grief. “He said _I’m sorry, Dad._ Because he knew I’d be alone, that I’d have to live not only without his mother, but now also without him. He could barely breathe and he _apologized._ I mean, what kind of kid does that when they’re dying? Not one who deserves it, that’s for damn sure.”

“And so this is your answer?” Tony asks. “Kill another kid who only tried to save him, and for what? It won’t bring back your son.”

“It won’t,” Wright agrees. “But it will be just. I already told Petey here just before I shot him the first time that he was gonna die with you watching, and the sadness I saw in his eyes, well. It felt good.” Wright pauses, smirking. “Of course, I did lie a bit. I let him think it was gonna be from a bomb.”

“So there are no bombs, then,” Sam says. “You just wanted the others out of the way.”

Wright nods. “They’ll figure it out soon though, which is why I need to finish this now.”

He turns back to aim at Peter.

“Just—just wait a damn minute!” Tony says, desperate. Wright pauses, considering him once more but keeping his aim on Peter. “You want to hurt him, right? Well you know what will kill him even more than actually killing him? Shooting me.”

Sam violently shakes his head. “Tony, don’t–”

“That kid has already lost two fathers,” Tony says, talking right over his teammate. “I’m the closest he has left to a living one. Do you have any idea what it would do to him if I died, and he thought it was his fault? I know him better than almost anyone, and I can tell you right now—it’d kill him in every way that counts.” He stands up straight, lifting his arms up and out to make an easier target of himself. “So if you really want to hurt him? Kill me, and let him live.”

Wright considers him for a moment, only to smile and turn his gun back on Tony. “You know what, that’s actually not a bad idea. Say goodbye, Stark.”

Tony closes his eyes, bracing himself. But instead of a gunshot he hears something much scarier—the sound of Peter’s monitor alarm going off. He whips his head around to see Sam has released pressure off the wound, blood gushing back out from under Peter’s clavicle and pooling on the floor.

“What are you doing?” he cries out, rushing forward only for Wright to fire a warning shot right by his head. Tony stops in his tracks, giving Wright a menacing look even as he pleads, “Don’t do this, Sam. You promised, dammit!”

“He’s already lost too much blood, Tony. I’m sorry, but there’s no reason for you both to die,” Sam explains to him, grave but decisive. He turns back to Wright. “Give it a few moments, and his heart will stop entirely. Just watch the monitor.”

Tony feels like his own heart is going to burst out of his chest as he watches Peter’s vital signs plummet on the small screen, the alarm continuing its wail. Then, far too soon—a long flatline. 

“No!” Tony screams. He takes another step forward only for his knees to give out from under him, landing in a heap on the floor as he watches Sam do nothing to save Peter, just keep his gaze trained on Wright. “No… kid! Pete?… No…”

“Well, it looks like my work here is done,” Wright says. He keeps his rifle trained now only on Sam as he walks carefully backward until he’s back at the quinjet entrance—hitting the button to open the door. With one last glance at Tony, he disappears out into the street.

Tony’s entire body is numb as he turns back to look up at Sam, who is still watching the door as if to make sure Wright is truly gone.

“You–” Tony starts to say, getting shakily to his feet, feeling a fierce anger burn hot in his chest. He’s never felt more betrayed in his life, not even back when he and Steve had been on the outs. “How the hell could you–”

He cuts himself off when Sam suddenly bursts into movement, messing with one of Peter's wires.

“What the..." Tony trails off, shaking his head. “What are you–”

The flatline jumps back into a regular rhythm, vital signs displaying once more on the screen. Tony’s eyes go wide as he strides forward, hardly daring to believe what he’s seeing as he goes to the other side of Peter from where Sam has gone back to working on the bullet wound and puts his fingers on the kid’s pulse point.

It’s sluggish and weak, but Peter’s heartbeat _is_ there, right under his fingers.

“You mean…” Tony looks up at Sam. “He’s not–”

“Military training, remember? I know how to bluff to the enemy when I need to. Just had to disconnect the wire long enough to fool him, but Peter’s going to be okay,” Sam says, pausing in his work just long enough to glance up at Tony and give him a firm nod. “I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, didn’t I? Well, I don’t go back on my promises.”

Tony nods back, only to let out a relieved chuckle, still shocked at the sudden turn of events. “You’re a damn genius, Wilson.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Sam quips, giving him a small smile before going right back into professional mode. “Now, go to the cockpit and tell Cap and Rhodes to get back here. The sooner we get Peter to the medbay OR and pump a few pints into him, the better.”

“On it,” Tony says. But first he moves his hand to the kid’s wrist, giving it a comforting squeeze—for him or Peter, he’s not sure. But this time at least, there’s no worry about leaving Peter.

He’s in good hands.


	9. 'run, don't look back' | 'take me instead'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know the rules. Driver picks the music.”
> 
> “You know it’s actually dangerous to drive to rock music? Like, the tempo and the beat make you drive too fast or something—Tony!”
> 
> A black shape erupts from a hidden side road. It hits Peter’s door head-on, caving it in and shattering the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my last solo chapter! so i have to say a big thank you to the rest of solkillerseeksak (solseeksak?) and also jess, the other half of my brain cell and therefore my ideas factory 💕
> 
> warnings in the end notes

“No.” Peter gestures with a fry that looks dangerously close to flopping over and breaking in half. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re always _just saying_ ,” Tony retorts, and swipes another fry from his box without taking his eyes off the road.

“Hey! But no, if you actually listened to anything except Black Sabbath or AC/DC, you would appreciate my taste in music a lot more.”

“You know the rules. Driver picks the music.”

“You know it’s actually dangerous to drive to rock music? Like, the tempo and the beat make you drive too fast or something—Tony!”

A black shape erupts from a hidden side road. It hits Peter’s door head-on, caving it in and shattering the window. 

Tony yells, one hand reaching out to Peter, to grasp, to hold, to protect.

Blackness.

* * *

He must only lose a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime when he comes to. Something is hissing nearby, something else is crunching underneath his feet, someone groans to his right—Peter!

Tony forces his heavy eyes open, feeling almost blindly with his still-outstretched hand. “Pete?”

“‘S’glass in m’burger,” Peter whines.

The surge of relief feels like hysteria. “Is there glass anywhere else, bud?”

“Don’ think so.”

“Okay.” Tony squints against the blooming headache, tries to focus on the thing beyond Peter’s window. It’s a van, big and black, tinted windows. As he stares, trying to comprehend it, he hears the click of a door opening and men appear around the side, dressed in tactical gear, guns in their hands, cuffs swinging from their waists.

This wasn’t an accident.

“Move,” Tony says, and throws open his door. Peter’s dazed eyes follow the movement. “Move, now, right the fuck now, get out, get out—”

The urgency seems to get through, because Peter swings himself over the centre console easily and follows Tony out of the car. They run, side by side, and reach the trees on the other side of the road just as a gunshot cracks behind them.

* * *

“I can hear water,” Peter says, tilting his head at just the right angle to give Tony a close-up view of the jagged cut on his cheek.

“Okay,” he manages. “We should probably clean out our cuts. And drink, obviously.”

They’ve been walking for at least an hour, hoping to hit another road or even a town—any possibility of calling for help—but they just seem to be getting deeper into the woods, getting more lost. Both of their phones are in the car. Peter’s watch, their last hope, is crushed, and his wrist doesn’t look too good either.

“Yeah.”

“Lead the way, then.”

“Do you think they followed us?” Peter asks.

“I hope not.” Except the crash was clearly the furthest thing from an accident, and those men came armed and prepared. Prepared for what? That’s the horrifying question that’s been bouncing around Tony’s skull since he stepped into the trees. And would they give up their target so easily? He doesn’t think so.

But who was their target? Him or Peter? Tony knows his luck too well to ever assume this was a random attack. So what did they want? Who did they want?

And his thoughts have gone in circles.

“Here,” Peter says, pulling him back to now. The kid is kneeling in front of what Tony can’t even call a stream. A brook. “Wish we had a bottle or something.”

“FRIDAY will have alerted everyone already. They’ll know something’s up when they find the car. We shouldn’t be out here too long.” Tony crouches by the water, gesturing for Peter to join him. “Does anything hurt?”

“My arm, mostly.”

“Hm.” Tony dips his sleeve in the water and uses it to wipe Peter’s cheek. He’d definitely got the worst of it; perks of being on the side that got hit. 

“This is gonna heal.”

“Healing’s no good if it gets infected.” With some of the blood gone, Tony looks closer; it’s not deep or wide, just oddly-shaped. Small mercies. “Okay, have a drink. We’ll take a breather, and then we might need to find somewhere to bunker down for the night.”

Peter glances up, searching for patches of sky through the canopy. The light is dying, turning grey and blue as night draws in. “Yeah.”

They start walking again, squinting against the dark.

“What about this?”

Tony turns, finds Peter pointing at a fallen tree resting against a small rock. Enough of a shelter to keep them dry, if not warm. “That’ll do.”

“I feel like a Hobbit hiding from the Nazgül,” Peter says under his breath as he crawls into the space.

Despite everything, it startles Tony into laughter.

* * *

Peter wakes up with a hand clamped over his mouth.

He panics for a split second, but his senses are completely silent—no danger—and the heartbeat pounding against his back is familiar, so he relaxes, looks around. Tony is staring out at the woods beyond their shelter, eyes bright with terror. A stick cracks.

Someone’s close.

“They can’t have gone far. The kid must’ve been hurt.”

“Don’t underestimate them, dumbass.”

“What’re an old man and a kid gonna do?”

“That old man is Iron Man. And any teenager that Stark keeps around is either smart or important.”

“Or both.”

“Exactly.”

There’s only two of them. Peter could take them down in the blink of an eye, but Tony’s fear has him petrified, a statue that barely breathes.

“Nothing. Wanna head back?”

“Sure. We better find ‘em soon, though. They won’t survive in here for long, and the boss won’t be happy if they’re dead.”

Their footsteps retreat, muffled by damp earth, moss, wet leaves. Peter reaches up and taps Tony’s wrist.

“Sorry,” Tony breathes, and releases him, “sorry.”

“‘S’okay. That was close.”

“We’ll keep moving in the morning. Get some rest, kid.”

“And you.”

Tony gently runs a hand through Peter’s hair as they settle down again, comforting, protective. Safe, for now.

* * *

“Do you think we can eat these?”

“What?” Tony whips his head around. Peter is leaning over a leafy bush, one hand full of berries. “Jesus Christ—don’t pick random things off random plants.”

“I think they’re okay.” Peter lifts his hand and sniffs them.

“I’m not about to reenact _The Hunger Games_ with you.”

“If they were poisonous, my spider sense would be going off, right?”

“Pete—”

“I’m really hungry,” Peter says quietly.

Right. Super metabolism. Tony sighs. “Gimme. I’m trying them first.”

“Tony—”

“Spidey sense, right?”

Peter presses his lips together but doesn’t argue as Tony plucks his own berry from the bush and pops it in his mouth. 

“Danger?”

“No.”

Tony chews it and swallows; it's a sweet burst of flavour on his tongue, a little starchy. “Not bad.”

Peter nods and takes his own mouthful, 

“That’s probably the healthiest thing you’ve eaten in years.”

“Rude.”

* * *

Peter hears it first. Of course he would; his senses are enhanced.

“There’s people—they’re a bit away, but I think they’re gaining.”

_Men. Guns. Handcuffs._

“How many?”

“At least five.”

Tony makes a decision. Split-second. “We’re splitting up.”

“What?”

“It’s our best chance.”

“You mean my best chance,” Peter retorts, and sets his jaw in defiance. “No.”

“No, I mean _our_ best chance.” Tony considers making it an order, but they’re not Iron Man and Spider-Man here; they’re Tony and Peter, lost, hunted, and afraid. “We just need to get them off our tail. You get up in the trees. I can find a smaller place to hide.”

“Tony—”

“I’ll find you.” Tony puts his hands either side of Peter’s face, holding his gaze. “I promise I will find you.”

“Tony…” Peter says again, and he’s trying so hard to keep his voice steady.

“And if I don’t, you’ll find me. We’ll be okay, kid. Run, okay? Run, don’t look back, don’t stop, just run. We’ll get you another burger when this is all over. Glass-free.”

“Promise?” Peter whispers. 

“I promise.” Tony kisses his temple. “Quickly, kid. Go.”

Peter shoots him an agonised look but he does as he’s told, pulling away and disappearing into the woods. Tony waits until his footsteps fade before turning and walking back the way they’d just come.

There’s so much more he wishes he’d said, so many things, but every one of them might have tipped Peter off, made him wise to the lie. So he keeps marching forward, heading back towards their pursuers.

Tony Stark never was good at keeping his promises.

* * *

Peter regrets leaving Tony almost instantly. Splitting up was stupid, even if it is their best chance. He doesn’t want to be alone in these woods.

Eventually, he has to stop and catch his breath; the berries had barely taken the edge off his hunger pangs, and his energy is running low. He just needs a minute—

The skin at the base of his neck starts to crawl.

_Climb._

He leaps for the nearest tree and scrambles up it, praying none of the branches give way beneath his feet, until he finds somewhere he can perch, out of sight of the forest floor.

“Does the boss seriously think they’re still alive?”

“It’s only been a day.”

Peter focuses in on the voices.

“Don’t forget it’s Stark we’re dealing with. Wrote the fucking book on being resourceful.”

“If he shows up with a suit made of twigs, I’m quitting.”

Someone laughs, then a radio crackles.

_“All units: target acquired, heading north two hundred yards east of the river. Activate your tracking tech. Follow the beacon for Foxtrot Team.”_

“Let’s move.” The footsteps jog away.

Tony. They found Tony. Peter drops from his branch, landing hard and clumsy, but he doesn’t care—he has to find Tony, he has to help him, they have to get away from these people.

He starts to run, stumbling as he goes, trying to keep the black suits in view through the trees.

_Tony Tony Tony_ pounds like a drum in his brain, urgent and frantic. He has to get to him he has to they have to be okay—

A gunshot cracks through the forest. 

* * *

Tony knows they’re onto him. He can sense them at the edge of his vision, like he’s acquired Peter’s sixth sense. They’re just following, trailing him. He almost wishes they’d make a move. 

But this is good. If they’re focused on him, Peter has a chance.

Closer, closer. The dull glint of a barrel peeking out from behind a tree. Water whispering not too far away. He keeps walking, keeps leading them away, keeps Peter safe just a little longer.

“Hold it!”

He stops, raising his hands.

“Turn around slowly. Keep your hands up.”

Tony does, and comes face-to-face with a wall of armed men.

One steps forward, eyes him up and down. “Where’s the kid?”

“Long gone,” Tony says, and hopes it’s true. “What do you want with us, huh? What’s your game?”

“No game.”

“Leave the kid, all right? Take me instead.” Tony tries for commanding, but it comes out as a plea. “Leave him out of this.”

“You know, it’s tempting—”

Whatever the leader was going to say is lost as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot thunders through the air. It echoes, hanging in the mist, in the branches.

_No_. Tony’s rooted to the spot, one word pounding in his head over and over again. _No no no—_

“Shots fired,” the leader says into his radio. “Report.”

There’s a hiss of static, then, _“Team Charlie here. We had eyes on the target. Confirmed hit.”_

_No no no—_

“Down?”

_“Down.”_

The ground starts to crumble beneath Tony’s feet, one piece at a time, his heart beating a drum of _no no no._ Not allowed. Impossible. _No no no._ “No.” His mouth jerks to life, no longer paralysed. “He’s a kid. He’s—just a kid, just a kid.”

The leader smirks. “Wrong place, wrong time. Collateral damage, Stark.”

They move towards him, pull his still-raised arms behind his back, cuff his wrists. He goes, limp and unresisting.

Peter’s gone. He’s gone. 

Tony Stark never was good at keeping his promises.

* * *

They get him to a car, somehow. He zones out as they drive, vision blurring.

They came for him. They killed Peter for being around him. He told Peter to run, and Peter did because he trusted him. He’d promised.

“Shame about the kid, huh?”

That snaps him back to reality. His glare is fucking murderous, but the man doesn’t seem cowed.

“Would’ve liked both of you, but he’s no loss.” He smirks. “You looked pissed, Stark. Want to kill me?”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “You’ll only wish you were dead.”

No one says anything else.

* * *

He’s locked in a room. Comfy bed, attached bathroom, nicely decorated. Not a cell, but it might as well be. No windows. No handle on the door. No Peter.

Even worse, he still has no idea what the hell they want. So he paces, around and around, circling like the caged animal he is, until he remembers where he is and what the fuck happened and _Peter—_

His legs give way and he sits down, hard, between a bedpost and the wall. 

“Fuck.”

He told Peter to run, to go, so that he’d be safe, and now…now…

He lost the kid. Again. Gone. His fault. 

The door opens. He quickly scrubs his face, swipes away the lone tear that had slipped out.

“Stark.”

“What the fuck do you want now?” he growls. 

“You.”

“But not my kid, right?” He stands, making every movement deliberate. Better to funnel his grief into anger than be a sobbing shaking mess on the floor. 

“Regrettable,” the man agrees. He’s dressed in a smart suit, not unlike one Tony would choose to wear himself. “Alive, he might’ve been leverage. Dead, he’s a lesson.”

“A lesson.”

“If you think I won’t kill people to get you to see things my way, then you’d be wrong.”

“Explain to me your perspective.”

“You, Stark, are important. Your tech, your leadership, your ingenuity, your example—you’re the lynchpin of the Avengers. The glue that holds them all together.”

“Don’t forget my money,” Tony says.

“Exactly. What happens when you pull that pin?”

“I’d say they still have Captain America, an ex-Hydra assassin, a few aliens, several immortals, the odd sorcerer, and the country of Wakanda behind them. Also War Machine. I’m retired; they won’t miss me.”

“Maybe,” the man agrees. “So what would happen when you dig that pin into every one of those links until they break?”

“And I’m the pin.”

“You’re the pin,” the man agrees. “I think, between us, we’ll make quick work of tearing the Avengers down, don’t you?”

Tony scoffs. “No.”

“Shame. Who’s going to pay the price for your stubbornness next?”

“Hopefully you.”

“Then I’ll tell the kid you said hello.” He might as well have shot Tony in the chest. The man can see it on his face, and smirks. “Take some time to think it over.”

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and Tony’s left with ringing silence, nothing to distract him from the thought of Peter, Peter running, stumbling, a shot piercing the quiet. Peter on the ground, alone, scared, dying.

Dead.

* * *

Cold. He’s so cold. And hungry.

No one’s going to find him. Tony had promised, he’d promised, but the shot—and the radio, crackling in the distance—

_“Shots fired. Report.”_

_“Team Charlie here. We had eyes on the target. Confirmed hit.”_

_“Down?”_

_“Down.”_

Down. Dead. 

They shouldn’t have split up. He should have refused. He should have stayed, and then he’d be with Tony right now, one way or the other.

_Cold._ He huddles into himself and sinks into his shelter a little more. He should keep moving. He can’t let himself get cold. His eyes slip closed of their own accord. All of him is so heavy. He’s too tired to move.

“I’m telling you, I picked up a life sign.”

Someone sighs.

“You can circle back, Sam. I’m checking this out.”

“I’m just saying it feels like a trap.”

“Maybe.” The voices are getting closer. Peter should move, right? Tony told him to run. _Run, don’t look back._ “Maybe not.”

Footsteps, circling around his hiding place. They’ve found him. They’re going to kill him, like they killed Tony. Confirmed hit. He can’t make himself care. He’s too tired to be afraid.

“Peter?” 

“Oh, shit…”

“Kid, hey, wake up.”

Peter forces one eye open. His arm hurts.

“Oh, man,” someone breathes, “thought we were too late.”

“Hey, come on. Can you stand?”

“Rhodey?” Peter’s voice creaks, dry and rusted.

“That’s me. Let’s get you home, okay?”

“Is it just him?” the other man asks. Sam.

“Yeah,” Rhodey says grimly. He puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders, pulls him to his feet. The world swims. “Easy. You’re miles from the car. You walk all that way?”

“Ran.” _Run, don’t look back._ “Someone hit us. They had—handcuffs. Guns.”

“And Tony? What happened?”

“He told me to run,” Peter whispers. There’s a world of detail missing, but he got the important points across. He ran. He left Tony. 

Rhodey shares a glance with Sam. He knows Tony too well; he understands without Peter having to say it. “Okay, I’m gonna pick you up. We’ll fly up to the jet. Your aunt’s waiting at the Compound. You’ll be home before you know it.”

Peter nods and lets Rhodey scoop him into his arms. If he closes his eyes, curls against the cold metal chest plate, he can almost pretend it’s Tony.

But it’s not.

* * *

May barely lets them off the jet before she’s tugging Peter into a tight hug. He tries not to look at Pepper hovering a few feet away.

“Was there any sign?”

“Pepper, I don’t think…” Rhodey’s voice trails off as they move back towards the building. 

May pulls back, running her thumbs over his cheeks, but her eyes are sad.

* * *

“Peter.”

They’re letting him stay in his own bedroom. His wrist is nearly healed, and as long as he keeps warm and eats enough, there’s nothing being in the Medbay can do for him. He sits on his bed, watches Rhodey in the doorway.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I…” Peter swallows. “We were driving—and this van came out of nowhere, and hit us. I don’t know, I hit my head, but Tony was shouting for us to run, so we did, and we were in the woods. We found somewhere to sleep, and the next day, I heard people following us, so he said we had to split up. He told me to run. And…” 

Rhodey waits.

“There was a shot,” Peter manages finally. “A gunshot. I—there were some of them near me, and I heard the radio—they said—”

“Breathe, kid.”

He tries. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Rhodey says firmly. “Not your fault, you hear?”

“I left him!” Peter snaps, 

Rhodey sighs, sad, tired, and moves further into the room. “Tony knew what he was doing. Do you think he could’ve lived with himself if he lost you again?”

“Did he think I could?”

“It’s different.”

“How!?”

“You know how,” Rhodey says gently. “The same way your uncle knew—”

“Don’t you dare!” Peter snarls. He’d been squashing that, forcing it down, but now the pain is rearing up in his face, a crashing wave ready to drown him. Another father gone. Another strike against Peter. _Your fault._

Rhodey doesn’t flinch away from his anger; there’s only understanding in his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. Tony needed you to live.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Live,” Rhodey repeats, and ruffles Peter’s hair before he turns to leave. It almost feels like Tony, but not quite.

* * *

Two weeks since Rhodey and Sam found him, curled in the roots of a tree. Seventeen days since the crash. Peter can’t remember the last time he properly slept.

That’s a lie: he can. But he doesn’t want to, because that means huddling under a fallen tree and safety and a heartbeat as familiar as his own.

Speaking of which, he can hear May outside his door. She does that sometimes, just sits and waits while he pretends to sleep, like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear again. 

Footsteps, heavy and frantic. Peter rolls over in bed. May stands.

“Happy? What’s going on? I saw the jet leave.”

Huh. Peter hadn’t. Maybe he’d been dozing when it happened.

“We didn’t wanna wake the kid—bad enough Pepper wouldn’t stay put—but Sam’s drones found some kinda building in the middle of the forest. There’s a van that matches Peter’s description of the one that caused the accident, all scratched up. And there’s a life sign inside that matches his.”

“Oh, my God,” May breathes.

“We didn’t want to get Peter’s hopes up,” Happy says quietly. “In case, you know…”

“No, of course.”

“And he needs the rest.”

“Absolutely.”

A pause, then, “Shit, I really hope they’re right.”

“Me too,” May says, “me too.”

Peter doesn’t sleep after that.

* * *

Tony wakes up on a comfortable bed with a pit in his stomach, just as he has for the last two weeks. 

In five minutes, someone will come in and bring him breakfast. The man will join him. They’ll talk, get nowhere. There’ll be a few jabs about Peter. Rinse and repeat.

Five minutes pass and no breakfast. So they’re changing it up today. Being superficially nice hasn’t worked. Maybe it’ll be torture instead. Might be a good distraction.

Five more minutes, and still nothing. He stands, stretches—and jumps at a loud _thunk_ outside his door.

He freezes, listening. There’s a shout, a _thud_ , and then the unmistakable sound of repulsors firing. Rhodey.

Except when the door slams open, blown halfway off its hinges, the suit that steps inside isn’t silver-grey, but blue.

“Pep?”

“Tony!” she cries. “Rhodey! Rhodey, he’s here!”

“Hey,” Tony says, and Pepper all but crashes into him. “Whoa, okay. Good to see you too.”

Sure, it’s been two weeks, but that doesn’t explain why Pepper’s crying as she kisses him, why Rhodey looks like he’s about to keel over with relief when he walks through the door.

Unless they found Peter, still and silent, and thought Tony was…

The thought makes him want to vomit, and he flounders for a distraction. “I mean, I missed you guys. Hardly beats my record, though. Now where’s my suit?”

“We didn’t bring you a suit.”

“I’m going to help you fight.” _I’m going to burn this place to the ground._

Pepper and Rhodey share a glance, and then Rhodey has him in his suited arms, carrying him out of the room and towards the exit.

“Let go!” Tony yells over the sound of fighting. “Rhodey, get off.”

“Don’t be a dumbass!” Rhodey shouts back.

They’re out of the building now, still in the same goddamn forest, identical fucking trees. The grey light suggests it’s early morning.

Tony renews his struggles when he sees the jet hovering above them. “Let go of me—”

“Will you calm down—?”

“I’m going back in there—”

“Are you, hell.”

“I am,” Tony snarls, “going to kill every single one of them.”

“Tones—”

“They killed him, Rhodey.” He needs someone to understand. To _know_. “They killed the kid—he—”

Rhodey’s grip slackens, just for a second, and when he speaks, his voice is softer, gentler. “Peter’s alive, Tony.”

“…what?”

“We found him out in the forest two weeks ago. Twenty-eight miles from the car.”

“No, he—”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this.” Rhodey takes a deep breath. “Tony, he thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.”

“Fuck,” Tony says with feeling. On balance, he thinks it sums up the situation pretty well.

* * *

“Can we make a stop?”

“What?” Pepper says.

“I’m serious. Five minutes.”

“Peter’s already at the Compound, Tony,” Rhodey says with a frown. “We’re going straight there.”

“Five minutes,” Tony insists. “It’s important.”

* * *

Barely a minute after Tony’s been settled in his bed, FRIDAY informs him Peter is on his way down. 

Every confirmation that the kid’s alive is another shock of relief, enough to leave him shaky. He clenches his fists in the thin blanket, suddenly nervous, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long.

The door is thrown open, almost denting the wall, and Peter follows it, eyes wide, breathing hard. He stops.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says quietly. Peter stares, dumbstruck, so he picks up the brown paper bag from his bedside table and opens it, holds out the small carton. “Promised, didn’t I?”

Which is apparently the wrong thing to say. Peter’s face crumples, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Oh, no,” Tony says, loud and alarmed, “no, I’m sorry. Come here. Forget the burger. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” Peter says on a breath, “sorry—”

“Come here,” Tony says again, and Peter does, folding around Tony and burying his face into the crook of his neck. “We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“I thought you were dead,” Peter whispers. 

“Yeah, likewise.”

“I heard the shot—”

“So did I—”

“And on the radio—”

“Same here.”

“Shit,” Peter says with a wet laugh. 

“That about sums it up.” Tony has a sudden trembling urge to never let go, because Peter’s here and safe and alive and he’d stay in this moment forever if he could. “Two weeks, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Tony pulls back, but rests his hand on Peter’s cheek. Alive. 

Peter’s face goes tight. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“What?”

“Tell me to leave you.”

Horror curls around Tony’s gut when he realises that Peter didn’t know what he’d planned, that being caught was deliberate, a way to keep him safe. He’d like to keep it that way. “Sorry, but—I have priorities, kid.”

Narrowed eyes. “Don’t like that.”

“You never have.” Tony looks away, searching for a way out of the conversation, and finds the drive-through bag again. “You want your burger? Glass-free, I swear.”

“You promised.”

“I did.” And by some miracle, he didn’t break it.

Peter takes a bite. “Better than those berries.”

“No contest. And look.” Tony pulls out his own little carton. “Got my own fries this time.”

“Progress.” They eat in silence for a moment. “So did you just pause getting rescued to go to Checkers or something?”

“I sent Rhodey through the drive-through in his suit.”

Peter snorts before exploding into laughter. “Oh, man. I would’ve _paid_ to see that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### warnings:
> 
> car accident, presumed character death, misplaced mourning
> 
> PLEASE do not eat random berries off random bushes


	10. Field Surgery | 'don't look'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony?” 
> 
> “Oh thank God. Are you okay? What happened? I tried calling Peter back and he’s not--”
> 
> “We-- we were in an accident,” MJ says, seeing her breath as her head continues to throb. She hears Tony grow quiet on the other end, the wind starting to whistle as the snow picks up outside. “Some-- a deer. A deer got in the road.”
> 
> MJ tests her fingers and her toes and her legs-- blinking a few times as she looks out front of her. It’s hard to focus, the headache she has making it that much more difficult every single time that she blinks. The windshield being broken doesn’t help any but even through the cracks, it’s just a sea of white in front of her-- snow and trees all mixed in and the sky growing darker it seemed by the minute.
> 
> Only for heart to feel like it seizes in her chest when she sees a smear of red, inhaling sharply as Tony asks, “What’s wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last solo chapter and the part 2 for 'Car Accident' !
> 
> See end notes for warnings

_DING. DING. DING. DING. DING._

MJ groans, head pounding and a pressure on her chest as she tries to open her eyes. It’s difficult, just as breathing is a little difficult-- feeling a spike of panic when her mind starts to work back into overdrive.

The snow. The deer. The crash.

_Peter_.

MJ hisses in pain, struggling to open her eyes and feeling something hot and sticky dripping across her face-- vision blurring as she blinks a few times to focus on what’s in front of her.

The car is right-side up, a small miracle since she definitely remembers flipping in mid-air, the same sensation of falling when Peter would take her out around the city— something she still hasn’t gotten used to. 

MJ feels dizzy and achy all over but most of all cold-- blinking a few times as she slowly wiggles her fingers and toes, thinking back to all the lessons she’s ever learned from the first aid classes she’s ever taken. 

The fact that she _can_ move her fingers is a good thing, even if her head is throbbing. 

The windshield is cracked open, shattered across her side and a gaping hole on the passenger side. She feels a twinge of pain in her leg when she tries to move it, slowly moving her head and her heartbeat starting to race when she sees the empty space in front of her.

“Pete?” She croaks out, feeling a chill down her spine from the wind and the snow that’s blowing in from the open windshield. 

MJ’s eyes dance around, seeing scraps of what she can only think of as metal paired with glass all around the car until her eyes finally settles on the dashboard, letting out a huff of laughter at the fact that her phone is still attached to the shitty phone holder Peter loved to tease her about. 

_Thank you Delmar_ , she thinks to herself— slowly reaching a hand up to grab it. 

There’s a part of her whispering in the back of her mind that this is a bad idea to try and move but a greater part of her starting to panic at the thought that Peter was nowhere to be seen-- knowing that for as cold as she is already that there’s a good chance that Peter is already starting to feel it’s effects that much more worse.

She hisses in pain from leaning forward-- the seatbelt that likely saved her life pressing hard against her sternum so severely that it feels like she’s already formed a bruise. MJ moves her hand to unbuckle said seatbelt, counting it a small miracle that it actually releases her when she leans back and lets out a shaky breath.

MJ grabs her phone, hands shaking as she slowly tests out her other hand-- wiping away what she can only imagine is blood from her face only for the phone to ring again.

_ELON MUSK_ flashes across the screen, MJ immediately answering the phone and putting it on speaker.

“Tony?” 

“Oh thank God. Are you okay? What happened? I tried calling Peter back and he’s not--”

“We-- we were in an accident,” MJ says, seeing her breath as her head continues to throb. She hears Tony grow quiet on the other end, the wind starting to whistle as the snow picks up outside. “Some-- a deer. A deer got in the road.”

MJ tests her fingers and her toes and her legs-- blinking a few times as she looks out front of her. It’s hard to focus, the headache she has making it that much more difficult every single time that she blinks. The windshield being broken doesn’t help any but even through the cracks, it’s just a sea of white in front of her-- snow and trees all mixed in and the sky growing darker it seemed by the minute.

Only for heart to feel like it seizes in her chest when she sees a smear of red, inhaling sharply as Tony asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Peter,” MJ says, looking at the driver door. Her leg is screaming at her but she pushes at May’s door, feeling dizzy as it swings open and as she slowly stumbles out of the car.

“MJ, don’t move. I’m gonna—”

“Peter’s bleeding,” MJ huffs out, shivering immediately as a gust of snow passes through her, “He’s-- something’s--”

“Are you hurt? Talk to me, what’s going on?” Tony asks, his voice clear and authoritative and being completely ignored as she takes a step towards the dark stain of red in the snow in front of her-- faintly seeing the trace outline of a body. 

“He’s not moving,” MJ says as she shuffles forward through the snow, limping now as she tries not to put too much weight on her leg-- guessing from the sharp pain that she’s twisted her ankle, glad at least that _that_ is the least of her worries. 

Especially for how still Peter is, heart pounding as Tony’s voice starts to go out of focus as she gets closer to him.

MJ is well-acquainted with seeing Peter in dire situations-- part of the impetus for their breakup being how much he tried to hide from her of how serious Spider-Man could be, something MJ herself grated against since she knew what she was getting into from the moment she figured out the truth about Peter for herself. 

They’d gotten through that, just like they’d gotten through everything else-- sending out a plea to anyone in the universe that would listen as she shuffles forward to where Peter is lying face down in the snow-- MJ’s stomach twisting into knots when she sees a tree branch jutting out from underneath Peter.

“Shit,” she mutters, hand shaking as Tony’s voice and the wind start to come back into focus.

“--are you there? Michelle, what’s--”

“He’s bleeding, bad,” MJ says, hissing in pain as she kneels down and extends a hand out to his neck-- holding her breath and feeling immediate _relief_ when she feels his pulse from her fingertips. “But I can feel his pulse. There’s-- there’s some kind of branch that’s--”  
  


“Don’t move him,” Tony says definitively, hearing something else in the background, “you shouldn’t be out there either. I’m getting your location and--”

“Tony, you’re not supposed to move,” MJ says, gingerly grazing across where the branch is sticking out from under Peter— only for the action to cause Peter to stir.

“Pete?” MJ asks, Tony going quiet on the other end as Peter begins to stir.

MJ feels like she can finally breathe when Peter’s eyes start to flutter before he finally blinks, looking up at her with his face pressed into the snow.

“Em?” Peter whispers, blinking a few more times as Tony’s voice cuts through. 

“Michelle? Are you still there?”

“I’m here, I’m here. He’s waking up,” MJ says, one hand tightly clutching the phone and the other shaking as she lightly rests it on Peter’s back.

“Don’t move. Keep warm. I got your location and I’ll just fly—"

“Tony—“ Peter says, hissing in pain as he lifts his head up even as he slowly starts to come back to consciousness, “Tony you can’t—“

“Like hell I’m not,” Tony says harshly, MJ’s hands still shaking from the shock or the cold as Peter frowns when he looks up at her.

“Y’r bleeding?”

“I’m fine,” MJ says, ignoring the ache in her chest, the throbbing headache and the pain from her ankle as she turns her attention back to the call, “Peter’s right. You can’t fly a suit and the weather is— is shit.”

She shivers, feeling a small sense of panic that Peter doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold at all, “Just call— call someone. Can you— you d-direct 911 to the compound?”

Tony seems to think for a beat, Peter’s frown deepening as he says, “Em— you’re hurt.”

“I’m okay,” MJ repeats, entirely more concerned with the red stained snow all around Peter. He seems to track her eye movements, looking over his shoulder and down to the branch before slurring, “th’ts no good.”

“What’s no good? Talk to me. I—“ Tony sighs, sounding painfully frustrated in a way that sounds unlike him,” FRI’s contacting 911 and we’ll get them rerouted.”

“‘Kay,” MJ says, getting ready to give him an update on how Peter looks only for Peter to scrunch his face up, moving his hands underneath him to sit up.

“Pete, don’t—“

“S’ gonna heal wrong,” Peter mumbles before doing one of the stupidest things she’s ever seen him do as he reaches towards the branch, pulling it out from him.

“Shit, Peter what are you—“

“What’s happening? Kid? Michelle? What’s—“

“Oh, bad— bad idea, _fuck_. Bad idea,” Peter says, hissing in pain as he scrunches his eyes together, twisting onto his back and pressing hard to the hole in his stomach.

Because, as MJ sees— feeling the urge to vomit— there is a _hole_ in his stomach, blood pouring out from his fingertips as she drops the phone and puts both hands on the wound.

“What the hell were you thinking?” MJ says, her head screaming at her as Peter pants— scrambling for the phone with his free hand as Tony yells out for someone to talk to him.

“What’s going on? Talk to me or so help me I’m—“

“Had a— r-run in with a tree,” Peter wheezes, MJ’s heart skipping a beat when she sees blood smeared across his teeth, “tree won.”

“He took the tree _out_ ,” MJ snaps, fear and adrenaline running through her now in equal measure as she presses down on the wound.

“Dammit. Dammit. Dammit— fuck,” Tony mutters, MJ’s rattled brain trying to figure out what their next step should be as Peter slurs, “I c’n heal. Em’s— she’s bleeding, T’ny.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” MJ says for what feels like the thousandth time, Tony’s voice switching to the same authoritative tone it has just moments before.

“Neither of you are fine, stop saying that. Peter, stay awake. You hear me, kid? Stay. Awake.”

Peter nods, even if Tony can’t see the action— MJ frowning as Tony says, “Michelle? You still with me, kid?”

“Yeah?” 

“Talk to me. What’s it looking like?”

“He’s b-bleeding,” MJ shivers, pressing her hand down a little more, “cut him clean through.”

“Okay and you?”

“I’m—“

“No more _fine_. Help is coming and they need to know what to expect,” Tony says directly, MJ ignoring Peter’s concerned look as she closes her eyes.

“My head hurts,” she says, Peter’s wheeze sounding a little too wet doing nothing good for her anxiety, “think the s-seatbelt bruised something and my ankle is— s-sprained or broken.”

“MJ…” Peter says, sounding pained as she shakes her head— immediately regretting the action as she says to the phone, “how far out are the paramedics?”

“Too far. Pete’s right, he can heal but he needs all the help he can get. And Michelle?”

“Y-yeah?” She asks, her mind starting to feel fuzzy from the concussion and the cold.

“We’re gonna take care of you too okay? But you gotta talk to me. Keep talking to me until they get there.”

“Kay,” she says, shivering again as she presses down on the wound, “he’s b-bleeding a lot.”

“That’s okay, just keep applying pressure alright?” Tony says, MJ holding onto that as an anchor as she shivers again.

“She’s— c’ld,” Peter slurs again, MJ flicking her eyes over to him.

“We’ll get the both of you warmed up real soon okay? You hear me? Stay awake, Peter. Michelle, keep talking to me.”

MJ has never been one to ramble— she hated being the center of attention when she was young and doesn’t like it anymore now that she’s gotten older. But a stint in drama club and a lifetime of observations turn her into a chatterbox for the next few minutes, focusing all her attention on keeping herself and Peter awake as they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

Distantly, MJ knows it’s a bad thing that Peter can’t feel the cold— just as she knows that the sweater she has can’t compete with the increasingly rapid winds as the snow swirls around.

It’s only when MJ glances down to her hands, Peter groaning a little in pain that she notices he’s stopped bleeding. 

“He’s— I think he’s h-healing?” MJ says, cutting Tony off.

“What do you see?”

“He’s— he’s not bleeding,” MJ says, hesitating before moving a hand and seeing that the wound in the front part looks open and horrifying but at least isn’t bleeding profusely anymore. “How’s— how’s that—“

“Spider, re-remember?” Peter wheezes before he smiles, MJ huffing out a laugh before Tony speaks up again.

“Cold must have set off a defense mechanism. That’s good— we can work with that,” he says, clearing his throat before saying, “Michelle, I need you to do something for me.”

“W-what?” She asks, now feeling a little dazed as she still protectively covers her hand over the open wound to protect from the snow.

“I need you to stay warm okay? Do whatever you can to stay awake. I’m not going anywhere but if Peter’s stopped bleeding, I need _you_ to keep focused right now alright?”

MJ’s mind feels sluggish, the thought of warmth and bleeding triggering a memory for her as she moves to stand.

“Where ‘re you—“ Peter begins as MJ shivers— her whole body aching now.

“May’s got f-first aid kit in her car. And b-blankets,” she says, Peter shaking his head as Tony’s voice rings out.

“Michelle—“

“Em don’t—“ Peter tries to slur, MJ already moving into a stand as she says, “I’ll b-be back.”

She moves as quickly as she can, which isn’t saying much— the thought occurring to her that Peter has to be in pain still if he’s not trying to stop her.

She hobbles back to May’s mangled car and makes her way to the trunk, opening it and heaving as she rests her wait against it.

She’s exhausted and everything hurts but help is almost there— rescue right on the tip of her tongue.

MJ knows they just have to make it till then.

Her mind takes on a one way track, grabbing the blanket May keeps and the first aid kid— leaving the trunk open as she hobbles her way back to Peter.

She can hear Tony still calling out for her and for Peter, slumping down on the ground beside him which prompts Peter to open his eyes again.

“Em?” Peter whispers as Tony swears. 

“Fuck. Michelle, are you okay? Don’t— don’t do that— stay—“

“I’m h-here,” she says, cutting Tony off, “got the b-blankets and f-f-first aid kid.” 

She throws the blanket over Peter’s chest, hands shaking as she opens up the kit.

“Let’s g-get you stitched up,” MJ says with a huff, Peter’s lip upturning as she grins, “Don’t look.”

“Talk to me, Michelle. What’s going on?”

“He stop-stopped bleeding but it’s open,” MJ says, willing for her hands to stop shaking from how cold she is as she opens up the antiseptic that’s there— relying on years of knowledge in doing this very thing from the times Peter would come home with cuts and scrapes and God knows what else. “G-gonna close it.”

Tony lets out what sounds like a laugh and a sigh, MJ cleaning her own hands as best she can as he says, “You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Y-you know it,” MJ says with a smile, putting her attention back to the stitching. 

It’s messy and it’s gross, MJ’s hands shaking more than they normally would despite how many times she’s done this before. What concerns her is how still Peter has gone, lips turning blue as Tony tries to engage the two of them in conversation.

“Eyes up, Pete. You awake? Talk to me, kid”

“Yeah,” Peter says, looking and sounding half-asleep as he wheezes. MJ finishes up the last stitch, too exhausted now to think of what the other side looks like and hoping that part at least is closing up since there’s so much weight on it. 

“Michelle?”

“P-present,” she says, hands still shaking as she shoves the kit aside— hissing as she leans down, moving to huddle with Peter.

His body is nearly ice cold— wrapping herself and then together as she shivers.

“You’re f-freezing, Parker,” MJ starts to slur, Peter wheezing in response.

“Paramedics are three minutes out. Come on kid, stay with me,” Tony says, MJ feeling too tired now to think of who he’s talking to.

“Em, you— you okay?” Peter wheezes out, MJ burrowing herself closer into him.

“You’re both gonna be okay, you hear me?” Tony says, “They’re almost there. Just— just stay awake alright?”

Tony sounds frantic, MJ still shivering and her teeth chattering together. 

“D-don’t tell me w-what to do,” she stutters out, a beat passing before Tony laughs.

“Last time, promise. You got this, Jones. Stay with me okay? Kid? Stay awake.”

“Y-yeah,” Peter pants out, MJ feeling the adrenaline that has carried her throughout this entire experience starting to wane now that the immediate task was finished.

“Michelle? Peter, you— stay with me. Kid? Come on, come on. Hey! Hey, Peter. Michelle, answer me.”

Tony’s voice starts to grow fuzzy just as MJ starts to hear sirens, feeling a heaviness on her as she struggles to stay awake.

She knows she should, just as she still hears Tony’s voice start to get more frantic in the distance.

MJ feels herself relax, quiet and silent as she tightens her grip on Peter around her— closing her eyes as the sirens get louder and louder— trusting that help was almost there. 

* * *

  
  


_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Peter groans, immediately hearing a rustling as he tries to shift his head.

“Peter?”

Peter winces, feeling a cool, familiar hand gently push some of the hair back on his forehead as he hums.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay,” May whispers, Peter leaning into her touch for a moment as his mind tries to connect the dots for why he’s here-- the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the smell of antiseptic just as familiar as May’s gentle touch.

Only for everything to rush back to him in quick succession-- feeling the heart rate monitor stutter then quicken it’s pace as he struggles to open his eyes.

The car. The snow. The crash.

_MJ_.

Peter snaps his eyes open, wheezing slightly as May startles, Peter trying hard to focus as he says, “May? Is-- where’s MJ?” 

“She’s okay, she’s in her own room. Her mom is with her now,” May says soothingly, Peter searching May’s eyes as she smiles at him. “You’re okay. She’s okay.”

May brings a hand to his face, Peter matching his breathing with her as he nods his head-- leaning back only to glance around the room, frowning before turning back to her as he asks, “Where’s Happy?” 

May smiles, looking exhausted as she pushes some more of his hair back, “Recovering. Worried about you.” 

Before Peter can ask how Tony is doing, he shows up-- doors sliding open as he walks into the medbay room, relief immediately flooding his features as he walks forward.

Peter just frowns as he does, eyeing him up and down. “You’re not supposed to be walking.”

“And you’re not supposed to be awake,” Tony says lightly, Peter knowing him well enough by now to see the lines of worry across his forehead-- eyes scanning him before turning to May. “How’s he doing?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters, May laughing lightly as she brings a hand down. 

“You haven’t missed much, just woke up,” she says, Tony easing his way down into a chair of his own-- looking like he’s aged a decade as he leans back and stares at Peter.

“You scared the hell out of us,” he says, nodding towards May. “I told you I didn’t need anyone checking on me.”

“We are not having this conversation right now,” May says, glaring at Tony as Peter huffs out a laugh-- fingers twitching as he looks back to the door. 

“I’m saying if we hadn’t, we could’ve avoided--” Tony begins, only for Peter to cut him off as he asks, “Are you sure MJ’s okay?”

The two of them both go silent, Peter swallowing down the lump in his throat. 

“She was-- she was really cold,” Peter says, eyes dancing between the two of them and his anxiety spiking when they share a look. 

He knows that look by now, the one that signifies that they’re hiding something from him-- a sharp spike of anxiety in his chest as May grips his hand. 

“She’s not enhanced, Pete. Dr. James says things are looking good for her but it’s gonna take a little longer for MJ to—”

“Can I see her?” Peter asks, cutting in as Tony clears his throat. 

“Kid--”

“Can I see her? Please?” Peter asks, May gently bringing his attention back to her. 

“You can, as soon as the doctor clears you,” May says, squeezing his hand. “You won’t do MJ any favors by passing out on her floor.”  
  


“I’m fine,” Peter says, shaking his head only to instantly regret the action, Tony huffing out a laugh.

“Thought we established that _fine_ is out of our vocabulary, kid,” he says lightly, even if the moment Peter meets his eyes he can see that there’s still tension and fear in them-- wondering now that he was lucid and a hell of a lot more coherent just how terrifying that had to have been for him to hear their crash, hear them go silent and what was worse-- have no way of being able to help them.

Peter’s eyes drift to the metal arm, guilt churning through him that Tony was supposed to be resting at home rather than sitting in a medbay chair as he says, “Are _you_ okay?”

Tony sighs, throwing his head back in exasperation. “This is my penance isn’t it? My test from the universe?” 

Peter stares as Tony leans his head forward, sitting up as he says, “I’m okay. You’re okay. MJ’s _going_ to be okay. Hell even Happy’s doing good, complained that he is.”

He smiles, reaching a hand over to rest on his leg and squeezing gently. “Promise.”

Peter nods but doesn’t believe it— guilt still churning in his gut.

All he can think of now is vague memories of MJ limping, of the look that May and Tony shared, of how serious it has to be for MJ’s mom to be here with her instead of working a shift at the hospital.

Peter says nothing for now, swallowing down the guilt as best he can and already making plans for how to sneak out of here. 

* * *

Peter knows he’s supposed to be in bed.

He knows it, but he also ignores it— slowly disconnecting himself from the monitors and the IVs and any other wires based purely from the amount of time that he’s spent in the medbay— feeling as if every second passed that he was actually healing up. 

He knows that it’s been a little over a day, Peter having woken up before MJ did earlier this afternoon and now feeling antsy— the place where MJ had stitched him up now all but gone. 

But Dr. James hadn’t given him the all clear just yet, though how much of that had to do with Peter’s own healing or to stop him from feeling any more guilty than he already did by seeing MJ, he didn’t know. 

He still stays quiet as he creeps out of his room, not just because he doesn’t want to risk getting yelled at for moving but because May was passed out on the couch in his room. 

May wasn’t a light sleeper by any means— a gift when Peter had been hiding that he was Spider-Man— but he can’t see her being too keen on him creeping out of his room when he’d been closer to Spider popsicle than man a little over twelve hours ago. 

He closes his eyes as soon as he exits the door, focusing his hearing to pick up where MJ could be.

Only to hear a heartbeat he’s _also_ familiar with come up in the hallway, snapping his eyes open and knowing he has nowhere to go as Tony turns the corner— coffee in hand— and stops in place.

They stare at each other— Tony in black warm ups that look brand new and Peter in a shirt that has seen better days— before Tony sighs, shoulders sagging as he says, “Why am I not surprised?”

“I need to see MJ,” Peter says, his voice a lot lower and a lot more desperate than he intended. Tony immediately takes notice, pressing his lips together before nodding in acceptance.

“Come on.”

Peter’s thankful for it, Tony shifting his coffee to his metal arm and extending out his other— Peter reluctantly allowing him to walk him towards the room as gently slides an arm across his waist.

“You good?” He asks, Peter nodding as they walk together. 

“I’ll be better when I see her,” Peter says, feeling determined as Tony lightly laughs.

“She’s a fighter. Damn good one too,” Tony says fondly, Peter glancing over to him as Tony catches his eye. 

Tony sobers up, understanding the question that Peter can’t bring himself to ask— taking a sip of his coffee before saying, “they were worried about frostbite with the wind chill but everything’s looking good. She had mild hypothermia, a hell of a concussion and some bruising.”

“She was bleeding,” Peter says, his voice catching now as his fuzzy memories bring back patchy images of what MJ had looked like then— blood streaked across her temple as she looked at him. “And limping.”

“Bleeding was superficial, got some stitches,” Tony says, the two of them walking closer to what Peter can guess is her room, “and her ankle was broken.”

Peter makes a face, Tony unwrapping his arm around him and facing him as he says, “But I meant it, kid. She’s gonna be okay.”

“I was supposed to drive,” Peter says, speaking now of all the things he had been mulling over this afternoon.

If they’d skipped class like he wanted to, they would’ve missed the storm. If they’d just waited till the next day, they would’ve missed the storm. But the thing that bothers him the most finally propels him to speak as he says, “If I’d driven, I could’ve done something. I could’ve avoided it or—“

“Maybe,” Tony says carefully, “or maybe _she_ would’ve been the one who went through the windshield.”

Peter blanches at that, Tony tightening his grip on Peter’s shoulder to ground him as he says, “But she _didn’t_. She’s okay, just like you are.”

He looks into Tony’s eyes, seeing the love in them as Tony says, “She helped save your life, kid. Scared the hell out of me when she stopped talking.”

Peter lets the moment settle over him, nodding as Tony says, “But she’s gonna be okay.”

“So much for Spider-Man. Sounds like my girlfriend was the real hero,” Peter says, Tony smiling fondly before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Huh?” Peter asks, Tony shaking his head and gently pushing him towards the door of MJ’s room as he says, “Remind me to tell you about Christmas 2012.” 

The door slides open, Peter feeling the tension in his shoulders start to relax when he finally sees her.

She’s got stitches across her temple and her ankle is in a cast, more bruises and cuts than Peter had noticed when he was bleeding out on the snow. But Peter holds on to what Tony said— that she’s _alive_ — Tony hanging back as Peter quietly walks forward.

MJ stirs slightly from the noise the chair makes when Peter sits, slipping his hand into hers as she frowns before asking, “Mom?”

“It’s me,” Peter whispers, MJ’s eyes struggling to open before he says, “it’s okay. I’m okay, I just— I needed to see you.”

MJ looks more asleep than awake, humming before softly whispering, “Dumbass.”

Peter laughs, bringing his lips to her hand as he says, “Yeah, that’s me.”

MJ doesn’t answer, just as quickly falling back asleep as Peter’s world slows down— the only thing he can focus on being the soft and steady rhythm of MJ’s heart and the warmth he feels from knowing that what May and Tony told him was the truth.

_She’s gonna be okay_ , he thinks, reminding himself of that as he gently squeezes her hand— focusing on her heartbeat before glancing back to Tony, seeing his smile as Peter nods a thank you before turning his attention back to MJ— content and more relaxed now that he can see her for himself. 

* * *

“Tony…”

“Don’t ‘ _Tony_ ’ me. You should’ve seen him, May. He would’ve just snuck out anyway. He _did_ sneak out, actually so—“ Tony tries to argue as May sighs, leaning against the door way of MJ’s room— Tony following her gaze to stare at the two of them.

Peter was well on his way to healing to the point where in the next day, it would be as if nothing had happened at all— now curled protectively around MJ who would admittedly take much longer to be back to normal. The prognosis was good, her injuries were less serious than Peter’s. But Peter was enhanced and MJ was not, Tony feeling terrified in a new way that something could’ve happened to either of them— that everything could've gone so horrifically wrong—because they were trying to see _him_. 

May sighs, Tony watching as her expression changes as she says before trailing off, “Of all the things…” 

May doesn’t have to continue for Tony to know exactly what she means— of how unfortunately well-equipped and experienced the two of them are in being in this exact scenario—holed up in the medbay—only for a more normal, ordinary fear of a car accident to take root. 

It was terrifying to hear the crash from the cabin, just as it was immensely frustrating to know that he wouldn’t be able to help. His arm worked with him well, on a good day, but so soon after a surgery was a risk that Tony knows Peter wouldn’t have ever forgiven him for— much less Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey and anyone else he loved in his life.

He can see the guilt in May’s expression too, a guilt that she of all people shouldn’t have, though if Tony knows her as well as he does— there’s nothing he could say that would alleviate it.

Tony instead turns his attention back to Peter and to MJ before he smiles, seeing Peter draw himself closer to her in his sleep.

“He’d think we were being creepy if he was awake,” May finally says, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them.

“He’ll live,” Tony jokes as May smirks, Tony catching her eye as he nods to the two of them, “MJ’s mom doing okay?”

“She is. She’s handling all of this,” May gestures to the facility, “a lot better than I expected.”

“She raised Jones. Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tony says fondly, thinking of what meeting Pepper’s parents had been like when they finally met and smiling at how completely unruffled the two had been at meeting Tony.

“I’m glad Peter told her when he did,” May says, leaning her head against the doorway, “though this… this world doesn’t get any easier.”

Tony almost wants to apologize for his part in it— an old habit in regret for bringing Peter into his orbit. But then May smiles, turning to Tony as she says, “But she’s not alone, at least.”

May leans her head up, folding her arms together, “Got a great team on her side.”

Tony smiles at May before looking back to Peter and MJ— back to the reminder that for once, all was safe and well. 

“Yeah” Tony says fondly before turning back to May with a smile.

“We all do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: 
> 
> Descriptions of injuries, non-graphic description of stitching someone up, Peter being a dumbass
> 
> Let it be known that I _am_ capable of happy endings :)
> 
> ~~or am I?~~


	11. hostage situation | gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started off slowly. 
> 
> It didn’t seem to matter where they were. Whether they were waiting in line at a food truck in the city or walking the halls of the compound - a tight, prickly feeling would suddenly make itself known at the base of Peter’s skull. He’d glance around, study the people nearby and try to stay aware of their surroundings, but to both his relief and frustration, nothing would ever happen. 
> 
> There was nothing wrong, not at least from what Peter could immediately tell. 
> 
> The only thing that he _did_ know for sure was that his danger sense wouldn't stop going off whenever he was around Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter warnings!

“So what do you think?”

“Huh?” Peter asks, lifting his head up from the phone as Happy snorts.

“Who are you texting that’s got you so distracted?” Happy asks with a smirk as they turn into the Compound, “May told me you were thinking of asking that MJ of yours out. You ever get around to it?”

“Can you guys stop talking about me behind my back?” Peter grumbles under his breath, slipping his phone into his pocket as he continues, “And she’s not _my_ MJ. She’s--”

“Yeah, I know, just a ‘friend’,” Happy laughs, pulling the car into the same spot that he always does. “Believe me, kid. Years of working for Tony and Pep means I’ve heard it all.”

Peter frowns, ignoring the terrifying and thrilling comparison that he and MJ were anything remotely similar to a couple that were stupidly in love-- also choosing to ignore the fact that he _was_ texting MJ, even if it was just about AcaDec. 

“Is Ms. Potts gonna be here today?” Peter asks as they exit the car, “Tony mentioned last time that she was flying out to Japan this week?”

“Flew out this morning,” Happy says as he closes the door and locks it behind him, Peter following after him as they walk up the steps of the Compound. “Surprised you remembered that.”

“I pay attention to things,” Peter jokes, as they walk forward-- only for something to itch at him in the back of his mind. He freezes, glancing around the Compound-- Happy pausing mid-step.

“You good?” he asks, Peter’s eyes dancing around the Compound. 

It’s relatively busy, all things considered. Peter didn’t know the full extent of what was happening with Captain America and the rest of the Rogues but he knew that it was a lot friendlier than it had been when he’d been asked to fly to Germany last year. He can see people moving in and out of some of the outer buildings, a group of what he can only imagine are lab workers having a break outside on one of the verandas. 

There’s nothing… wrong, but there’s a sense of unease, something that Peter couldn’t quite place. 

“Pete?” Happy asks, the tinge of concern in his voice reminding Peter of how he sounded that day after homecoming, Peter looking back to him and seeing the caution in his face. 

Peter knows now what he didn’t then, that both Happy and Mr. Stark felt awful about leaving him on his own-- even if they hadn’t said that in so many words. But Peter could tell, from the way Mr. Stark reached out to him more and more and from how Happy looks now-- ready it seemed to listen to anything Peter had to say. 

But there’s nothing to tell, not yet at least-- Peter shaking his head and taking another step forward. 

“No, just a lot of people,” Peter says carefully, Happy huffing out a laugh before the two of them resume their walk towards the front doors. 

“Yeah, SHIELD’s been a little more involved because of the whole Accords thing,” Happy says, confirming Peter’s gut instinct as he says, “Word on the street is that Cap’ll be here soon enough.”

“Really?” Peter asks, unable to contain his excitement as Happy rolls his eyes again. 

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Of course,” Peter blatantly lies, fingers already itching to grab his phone and spill everything that he can to Ned. 

Peter ignores the itch in the back of his mind, scrambling up the steps and pushing away the nudge as nothing more than the change of pace. 

* * *

It started off slowly. 

It didn’t seem to matter where they were. Whether they were waiting in line at a food truck in the city or walking the halls of the compound - a tight, prickly feeling would suddenly make itself known at the base of Peter’s skull. He’d glance around, study the people nearby and try to stay aware of their surroundings, but to both his relief and frustration, nothing would ever happen. 

There was nothing wrong, not at least from what Peter could immediately tell. 

The only thing that he _did_ know for sure was that his danger sense wouldn't stop going off whenever he was around Tony.

Not Tony himself, Peter felt safe around Tony but it was when he was _around_ him-- at the Compound especially, that set him on edge. Not enough to say with any kind of certainty that something was _wrong_ , but just enough for Peter to know that something wasn’t _right_. 

It didn’t take long for Tony to notice and comment on his seemingly random bouts of wariness. Just as Happy was that much more intentional about listening to Peter, so was Tony-- eager to listen to Peter’s explanation despite there being zero proof of any real threat. 

“Could it be my cologne?”

“It’s not your cologne,” Peter says with a laugh, wrinkling his nose as Tony sniffs his shirt animatedly. 

“Considering what happened when I brought you that peppermint hot cocoa, I’m not taking any chances,” Tony says with a smile, Peter laughing him off as they got back to the task at hand. 

Tony joked but Peter could tell that he was serious in listening to him, even if Peter was beginning to wonder if his senses were just messing with him, especially after two weeks went by and nothing happened. 

Peter began to mention it less and less, but it didn’t stop the feeling of oncoming danger-- some invisible timer to something even if Peter couldn’t figure out what it was. 

It got to the point that Peter felt a pull towards hanging around with Tony almost like a second shadow. If he left the workshop to drop something off to another department, Peter would follow. If he had to drive out to Brooklyn to take a look at a new building prospect, Peter would ask to accompany him and would do his homework in the car. 

He worried that Tony would grow annoyed at his constant presence but to the contrary, the man seemed delighted to have him around and even joked that he was going to put Happy out of a job as his bodyguard, something that Happy didn’t find nearly as funny as the two of them did. 

“Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?” May asks one day as Peter drums his fingers against his legs as they ride the elevator up to Tony and Pepper’s penthouse for dinner.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Peter says distractedly, knowing from May’s frown that she doesn’t believe him but the elevator dinging that they arrived stops her from pressing it forward. 

Peter feels instant trepidation when they walk into the foyer, less because of his senses and more from the anticipation of how constantly he has felt this exact warning signal in the back of his mind-- now wondering if he was just confusing his super senses with regular old anxiety from hanging around _Iron Man_ on a consistent basis. 

Peter quickly shoves that thought away, especially considering that in the year since his disastrous homecoming night, he feels like he actually knows Tony-- enough that feeling nervous about being around him didn’t make sense. 

Peter’s still distracted throughout the night, pushing his food around and letting the conversation between the three adults pass over him until they grow quiet-- realizing that he’s been directly talked to as he looks up and says, “Sorry, what?”

“Telling you, the kid’s got his head in the clouds lately,” Tony says with a grin, winking at Pepper as he adds, “Got himself a girlfriend, don’t you, Pete? So I guess we’ll have to forgive the young buck here being over hanging out with us on a Thursday night.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Peter says, embarrassingly feeling his cheeks flush as he looks down to his plate, hearing May laugh and Pepper sigh.

“Don’t tease him, Tony. I think it’s sweet,” Pepper says, Peter looking up and seeing Pepper smile warmly at him. 

“Sweet and a long time coming. I’m with Tony,” May traitorously says, Peter scoffing as both May and Tony share a conspiratorial look. “It has to be big if he missed you mentioning a tour of those fancy lab buildings at MIT.”

“Wait, MIT? What happened?” Peter asks, sitting up slightly as Tony continues to grin.

“If you were paying attention, you’d know that I was invited out for a grand opening of a new building on campus. Well, _Stark Industries_ was invited out but Pep’ll be out of town again so they’ll just have to settle for me.”

Pepper playfully rolls her eyes as he kisses her hand before looking back to Peter. “How about it, kid? You wanna come by and see the old stomping grounds? Successfully convince you that MIT is the one and only choice you should consider for college?”

“Tony,” both May and Pepper say warningly, Peter holding back a laugh as Tony lifts a hand up placatingly.

“It’s just a suggestion. And with me, it’ll be a hell of a lot more entertaining than any of the college tours that your school will set up. After I please the masses and get the boring stuff out of the way, I can show you where all the magic happened. And by that I mean the robotics department, not the dorms. Don’t want you getting too many ideas.” 

A beat. “Unless you want some. We’ll talk when your aunt’s not here.” 

Peter rolls his eyes as May sighs, laughing as he says, “That sounds great, Mr. Stark.” 

“You can invite Ned too if you want. Been meaning to get to know that little hacker better, myself,” Tony offers, Peter smiling as he nods.

“Yeah, for sure I’ll ask him.”

He sees the twinge of a smile on Tony’s face, already anticipating his question as he begins, “And if MJ--”

“Won’t want to go, she wants to go to Harvard,” Peter says definitively, only serving to make the adults in the room laugh.

“If you say so,” Tony says with a wink, Peter sitting back in his chair. 

The sense in the back of his mind is quiet now, quieter than it’s been in weeks.

 _Maybe it’s nothing_ , Peter thinks to himself as the conversation shifts-- willing himself to believe that. 

* * *

“Alright, bud, stick with Happy for a bit. I gotta do my thing.” Tony gives Peter a light pat on his upper arm before buttoning his suit and clearing his throat. 

A small stage had been set up in the main court of the campus, right in front of the impressive Maclaurin building. The crowd was fairly good sized despite the fact that it was only mid August and the school year hadn’t yet begun. The event had been widely publicized and anticipated, so it was still well-attended, save for one.

Ned had been excited to come with only to have to dip out at the last minute, a case of strep throat that had taken him out for the week-- despite how much he’d argued with his parents that he should be allowed to attend anyway. 

“You have to tell me everything,” Ned had told him, Peter promising him that he would. 

“Good luck!” Peter says now, smiling when Tony gave him a wink as he walked towards the stage. 

“-for the commencement speech we have Tony Stark!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers around the courtyard and the crowd immediately breaks into applause. 

Tony shares a few quiet words with his PR director and then steps up onto the stage and waves, his trademark grin flashing. Peter turns his attention to the large screens that had been erected around the edges of the area for easier viewing. 

“Did everyone bring their homework?” Tony starts, and as the applause transitions into laughter, Peter marvels once more at his mentor’s charisma. He’d known it since he first saw him on TV as a kid, of course, but somehow watching Tony's ability to charm a crowd in person fills Peter with awe. 

Just the thought of having that many eyes on him makes butterflies burst into flight in his stomach. Makes his gut tighten and his skin tingle from his neck down his spine. 

_Wait_. 

Was that imagined nerves or was that…

He glances around, tuning Tony’s voice out to focus his senses. The warning prickle doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it grows stronger the more he concentrates. He looks to Happy, who stands a few feet away. The man looks just as alert, eyes not looking at Tony but rather at the stage under him, the people at either side, the people right in front. 

As though sensing his gaze, Happy meets his eyes. Peter’s face must have been self-explanatory because the man immediately frowns. “What, you feeling your thing again?”

Peter just nods, his worry rising as he considers the implications. He had begun to suspect that his repeated unease could be the result of a stalker. Someone following Tony with ill intentions who had yet to make their move. It made the most sense, especially since his senses went haywire anytime they were out in public or even at the compound. 

But if Peter’s getting the same feeling now, that meant that whoever it was had followed Tony all the way to Massachusetts. To a widely publicized event. Where he’d be in front of a crowd with cameras on him. 

Happy’s frown deepens as he turns his scrutinizing stare back to the crowd. Meanwhile, Tony’s speech continues and Peter’s unease grows. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two later that Happy put a hand up to his ear, listening to his comm. His eyes briefly meet Peter’s before he turns to the other members of Tony’s security detail. “Suspicious activity at the car,” he explains quickly. “Peter, stay here. You two with me.”

Peter watches them cross behind the stage in the direction of the parking lot, chewing on his bottom lip. Was someone trying to plant an explosive on Tony’s car? Mess with the brake lines? He stays close to the remaining two members of the security detail, resisting the urge to circle around the stage himself to look for anything weird. 

It takes everything within him to do so, absentmindedly itching at his wrists and hating that he doesn’t have a suit or his web shooters with him. 

“-might not think that the study of extraterrestrial engineering and technology would warrant the time, effort, and costs of an entirely new program,” Tony was saying, his voice projecting over the courtyard. “It’s alright, I know there are skeptics and naysayers out there. But let me tell you why they’re wrong.”

The uncomfortable warning sensation suddenly increases and Peter looks directly behind him. His eyes zero in on a man a ways away, lingering at the corner of the building behind the stage. He’s wearing a navy zip up sweatshirt with the hood up. The day’s overcast, sure, but the air muggy enough to surely make that outfit choice uncomfortable. His hands are deep in the pockets of the hoodie and the way his eyes shift around tells Peter from a year and half of patrolling New York City that he’s up to no good.

Peter _really_ wishes he had his web shooters with him now, even if there’s another smaller, more grateful part glad that Ned isn’t here— safe at home rather than having to be here with whatever’s about to go down. 

“Uh,” Peter says, then turning to the two bodyguards, “Excuse me? There’s a guy over there. Looks… sketchy.”

One of the men looks at him briefly, looks to the guy in the navy sweatshirt, then back to the crowd in front of them. 

Peter waits, but the man doesn't acknowledge him any further. “Hey. Don’t you want to do something? He could be… I dunno. He might be planning something.” As he speaks, Peter can’t help but realize how dumb that must sound. 

“We’re not leaving Mr. Stark’s side,” the other man says without even looking at him, and despite his frustration. Peter couldn’t help but appreciate their dedication, even if it was rather grating at present. Peter reminds himself that they don’t know about his senses or about his powers, that Tony had made every effort to make _sure_ people didn’t know who he was. 

As far as they’re aware, he’s just a jumpy little intern in a ‘Geology Rocks’ t-shirt.

Peter looks behind him again to find the man in navy staring straight at him. The man draws back ever so slightly, as though unnerved by Peter’s concentrated stare. He shifts uncertainly for a moment before turning to retreat out of sight along the side of the building. 

Peter draws in a quick breath, hovering in indecision. The security guards’ attention remains on Tony and the surrounding crowd. With a near-silent growl of frustration, Peter makes a snap decision and takes off toward the building. As he does, he pulls out his phone and sends off a hasty text, as legible as he could make it while watching where he was going.

 **[2:21pm]** **Happy:** sus guy behind big bldng gonna chk

There’s a voice in the back of his mind that suspiciously sounds like May telling him that he should call _someone_ to let them know what he was doing. But Peter ignores it, if only because he doesn’t want to risk wasting time or worse-- distracting Happy when he needs to focus. Happy may very well be dealing with the actual threat at the moment and Peter wasn’t about to distract him with something that could very well turn out to be nothing. 

Best case scenario, the guy was just some nosy student smoking weed and afraid of getting caught on campus. 

Worst case scenario, well… Peter would get to that problem when he needed to. 

He turns the corner just in time to see the man disappear around the back of the building. Peter speeds up and turns that corner as well. The man is nowhere in sight, but there’s a door into the building that’s swinging closed. Peter catches it just before it latches closed and rushes inside. He finds himself in a stairwell and immediately races upward, following the thundering footsteps that echoed around him. 

“Hey, stop!” he calls after chasing the man up one floor and nearing the second, but unsurprisingly gets no response as he continues to run after him. 

At the third floor, the chase ends. The man slams his shoulder into the door to exit the stairwell and Peter bursts out right after him, almost close enough to reach out and grab him. He skids to a full stop, however, when he finds himself staring not at the man in navy but a man in a maroon hoodie and denim jacket. He stands solidly about fifteen feet down the hallway, a 9mm pistol aimed at Peter’s head. 

Peter goes utterly still, mouth dropping open in surprise. “Oh.”

“What did I tell you? He always knows we’re there,” the navy man grumbles, stepping up from behind Peter to stand next to him. “Didn’t know he was gonna come after me though.”

“Yeah,” the one in denim replies, his brown eyes narrowing a bit in thought. “Well fuck, this isn’t what we planned.”

Peter mentally rushes through his options and finds them concerningly limited. The one in navy is within reach, and even though Peter now sees a gun held down by his side as well, he knows he could disarm him. But the other one is too far away. He could easily be shot as soon as he made a move. 

He really, _really_ wishes he had his web shooters with him now. 

“Alright guys,” Peter starts, hands raising slowly out to his sides. “I can see I’m not welcome here, and I’m more than happy to leave. If I could have one request though… maybe turn yourselves in to the authorities?” 

“Well, it’s kinda what we planned,” Navy says without acknowledging Peter’s attempt at conversation. “I mean… it was one of the things we considered, at least.”

“Yeah, not here though,” Maroon replies.

“You have your stuff though, right? We can make it work here.”

“Yeah, upstairs. Alright, yeah. Yeah, we can do it here.”

“Uh,” Peter says warily as Maroon stepps to the side and slowly leans down to grab a duffle bag he hadn’t noticed before. His aim never wavers, pointed straight to Peter’s head. “Are you guys planning to do something to Mr. Stark? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m not on board with that.”

“Be quiet,” Navy says. Maroon tosses the bag down the hall to him and he crouches next to it, fishing through its contents and pulling out a set of thick, military-grade zip tie cuffs. “Arms behind you.”

Peter’s heart rate begins to speed up at the sight, running through his options. The two guys clearly know that he’s affiliated with Tony in some way and Peter had all but confirmed it by chasing after one of them-- wishing now that he’d listened to that voice in his head.

The chances of them knowing that he’s _Spider-Man_ are slim but not impossible, realizing now that Maroon actually looks familiar-- wondering if he’s someone he’d seen around the Compound and hadn’t even realized it at the time. 

If that’s the case, they don’t know he’s Spider-Man but they know he’s close with Tony-- close enough that maybe this had been their plan all along, kicking himself for falling into what now seems like a trap. 

“Do it,” the man with the gun urges when Peter doesn’t immediately obey. “We need you alive but you’ll be just as useful to us with a bullet in your leg.”

Peter releases a long breath in an effort to stay calm as he moves his hands behind his back and feels the plastic cuffs slipping over his wrists. They feel like nothing against his wrists, debating if he should rip them apart and knock these guys out. But something else tells him to pause, a voice this time around that sounds like Tony, to wait and see what their plan was before risking doing anything stupid. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll find out,” the man in navy says as he pulls the zip ties tight. 

It takes everything in Peter not to jerk his head away when the man ties a black blindfold over his eyes as well, knowing that without his sight, the chance of finding an opportunity to run or fight went way down. 

“Alright, let’s go,” the man next to him says, grabbing his upper arm and pulling him back toward the stairwell. 

He’s dragged up another floor, stumbling more than once on the stairs, and then down several hallways. He keeps track of their footsteps, keeps track of their heartbeats-- focusing in his other senses to try and see how he could get out of the situation that he’d just willingly walked into. 

They finally pull him into another room, one he can only imagine is a classroom or lab-- close enough to a window because he could hear Tony’s voice clearly. 

He must have just said something funny because Peter hears chuckles from the crowd as he’s pushed down into a chair and his phone pulled out from his back pocket.

“Should’ve stayed by security, kid,” one of the guys says, Peter frowning as he wrinkles his nose.

“And you should’ve brushed your teeth this morning. Yikes man, I got some toothpaste if you wanna--”

Peter doesn’t have his sight but he can easily hear and sense the swing that comes his way, every instinct in him telling him to dodge but forcing himself not to because he was just supposed to be a stupid kid-- the knock of the gun against his head being just hard enough that to a normal person, it would’ve made them see stars.

“Jerry, leave the kid alone and help me out.”

“Smart ass,” the guy-- Jerry, Peter figures-- says under his breath, Peter gritting his teeth as he frustratingly sits in place. 

He should’ve knocked them both out when he had the chance, now realizing that he’s done this to himself to be here like a sitting duck to whatever they have planned. In any other situation, Peter could snap the zip ties off like string-- half-convinced that he should. 

Though if the malice in Jerry’s tone was any indication, and the hit they just gave-- neither of them would have any problem shooting him if Peter became more trouble than what he was worth. 

Peter had dodged plenty of bullets before but he isn’t sure if he’d be able to dodge one point-blank to the head. 

With no other real options, he sits quietly and listens to them rustling around nearby, trying not to let his mind wander into the darker possibilities of what they might be setting up. He listens to Tony’s voice and tries futilely to push the blindfold off with his shoulder.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” not-Jerry said. “Anytime you want.”

“Wait, hang on,” Jerry replies, his footsteps approaching Peter’s chair. “This’ll look better.”

Peter straightens, sensing immediate danger. But he’s supposed to just be a regular teenager who couldn’t even see, so once again he forces himself to stay still until the fist connected with his nose. Pain blooms immediately and he feels warm blood trickle down from his nostrils. 

“Ow,” he murmurs, twitching his nose to see if he could tell whether or not it’s broken. Other than the blood and pain, it seems fine. That’s good. A bruise and some bleeding he could work with. 

“Okay, ready.” The footsteps retreat. 

“Going live.”

For a few seconds they're silent and all Peter can hear is Tony’s voice through the speakers, still giving his apparently lengthy speech.

“-the next generations are going to take over for us when we’re gone. It’s our job to make sure they are equipped with the knowledge they need to--” his voice suddenly stutters and trails off, and Peter’s eyebrows scrunch together in worry. 

_“Tony Stark.”_ A new voice is projected through the courtyard speakers, but it isn’t either of the men in the room with Peter. It’s robotic and emotionless, and he realizes they must be using a text-to-speech feature to avoid using their real voices. _“You recognize this person, don’t you?”_

The crowd outside hushes, and Peter’s stomach plummets when he realizes what must be happening. They must have a camera on him, showing him on those giant screens surrounding the event. 

Peter can’t help shifting nervously. This was way worse than he had anticipated. He thought maybe they would wait for Tony to finish his speech, maybe call him using Peter’s phone, demand money for his safe return. That seemed reasonable. But now there are maybe two hundred people down there, all watching him and listening. 

_“You’re going to get a text from an unknown number in a few seconds,”_ the computerized voice continues. _“It’s an account number. You’re going to transfer five-hundred thousand dollars into it.”_

They don’t say what will happen if he doesn’t do as told; apparently the visual is enough. Peter tries to wipe the blood from his nose onto his shoulder, but can’t quite reach.

“He left the stage,” one of the guys says quietly to the other, apparently watching from one of the windows. 

_“If you’re thinking of trying to take this feed down from the big screens, just know that you’ll be forfeiting this boy’s life. This is the only way we will communicate with you. If this feed dies, then so does he.”_

“You might be overestimating my importance,” Peter mutters. His eyes widen under the blindfold when he hears his voice echoing over the courtyard as well. They must have a mic near his chair. The crowd is murmuring, though whether it’s in confusion or alarm or some mix of both, he can’t tell. Either way, Peter’s inside churn with this knowledge. With the camera on him, a live link at that, there’s no telling how _many_ people would see him if he burst out of here as Spider-Man.

There weren’t just a few hundred people out there, but news cameras. Peter couldn’t risk bringing anymore attention to himself now. 

_“You have five minutes.”_

“Come on guys, you have to give him longer than that,” Peter says before he can stop himself. “What if he forgets his online banking password?”

He never was very good at filtering himself when he was in danger. That’s when the thought occurs to him that he _was_ still able to speak, and how valuable that really was. 

“I uh…” he hesitates only a moment, waiting to hear the echo of his voice and make sure it was still being projected through the speakers before rushing through the rest of the sentence. “I’m in the building be-“

He hears the gunshot before he feels it, a sharp blinding pain in his leg that immediately drowns out all of his other senses. Peter can hear gasps and cries of alarm rose up from the crowd but they’re fading away now, not with the immediate and white-hot pain that he feels from the wound to his right leg-- all too familiar with what this feels like from a year and half of patrol.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter gasps out, everything in him wanting to break out of the flimsy restraints but forcing himself to sit as still as he could-- not having to act with how much pain that he’s in as he gasps. A hand comes up behind him, Peter flinching as it shoves him back upright in the chair and holds him there.

“I told you that you’d be just as useful with a bullet in your leg,” Jerry whispers into his ear, too quiet and close for the mic to pick up. “One more word and that entire crowd, including Tony, is going to watch your brains splatter against the wall behind you. Do you understand?”

Peter squeezes his fingers together behind him to try and stop their trembling as he nods in assent, swallowing down the pain as much as he can as he lets out a haggard exhale. 

“Don’t. Speak,” the man reiterates darkly one more time before he lets go of Peter and retreats.

Peter swallows once more but otherwise stays still, the pain in his leg only amplifying the longer he sits upright-- even if he spitefully refuses to show that he’s in pain. 

There’s hundreds of people here, all seeing this live. Peter won’t be the one to traumatize them. Not when he knows exactly what it feels like to watch someone die from a bullet wound. 

“Put the timer on the screen with the kid. And the account balance,” Jerry says to the other. “Yeah, there you go.”

The five minutes that pass by are both the quickest and slowest he’s ever lived.

He has a headache and feels cold, likely from the blood loss and from how tensely he’s holding himself. Peter wonders if they hit an artery or something from the wetness that’s traveling down his leg, the faint hint of copper in the room making him want to gag.

But he doesn’t, refusing to acknowledge that he’s in pain or even to stop the bleeding that Peter only knows from experience is happening way too quickly. 

Even as his mind starts to grow fuzzy, Peter remembers what he had texted Happy-- the knowledge that at least _someone_ would be able to figure out what building they’re in by pinging off a cell tower. 

But that was still no guarantee they’d get here in time, considering how many buildings there were and how large of a building it was, and how many rooms and floors they would have to clear before getting up to him. 

Peter’s mind starts to slow, the blood loss affecting him way sooner than it should-- convinced now that they hit something important for how sluggish and cold he’s feeling. 

_“Ten seconds, Stark,”_ the robotic voice announces, cutting through the fogginess. “ _The kid here isn’t looking too hot_.” Peter tries to straighten up in his chair but finds he can’t, wheezing in pain as his palms go clammy.

“Oh shit, he just did it,” one of the men says, and Peter can’t help but sag a bit in relief. “Five hundred grand.”

“Okay, do it,” the other replies. 

Footsteps approach yet again, and in his pain-induced haze, Peter wonders whether they really were just going to let him go. 

He gets his answer when a hand grips the knee of the leg that had been shot, holding it down painfully. He’s vaguely aware of his own cries echoing back to him from the loudspeakers outside and he tries to hold them back as best he can, but it’s near impossible to be silent. He understands now why they chose not to gag him. 

He’s also not surprised when the hand releases and instead he feels the cool metal of a gun pressed against his temple. 

_“You waited too long,”_ the emotionless voice says. _“His price just went up another five hundred thousand. You have thirty seconds.”_

“You gotta-- you gotta g’v him more time than th’t,” Peter wheezes out, realizing belatedly that he’s still close to a mic from hearing his voice echo out throughout the courtyard-- only to wince even more so when gun smacks him across the head again, infinitely more disoriented now than he’d been before when it’s pressed into his temple again. 

“Jerry…”

“I warned the little shit. Fuck it, we’ll show Stark what happens when he--”

Before Jerry gets to finish that thought, the room erupts into noise and chaos. New, demanding voices rose up nearby, followed almost immediately by shattering glass and gunshots. Peter flinches on instinct, Jerry throwing him back and Peter feeling himself fall hard onto the ground-- the wind being knocked out of him as his back is now completely drenched in what he can only assume is from a pool of his own blood.

The sound and the motion all around him overwhelm his senses, Peter now too far disoriented to remember that he wasn’t supposed to break out of his restraints. He easily rips them apart, wheezing more as he tries to shift his blindfold off-- hearing the shouts and yells of people all around him as he blearily looks up the ceiling.

Before he can bring himself to move again, he hears one voice over all the rest of them-- hazy and distant as Peter’s hand falls to the side with the blindfold.

“Peter!”

Peter slowly blinks up at the ceiling, not even feeling cold anymore as the edges of his vision start to darken. Squinting now, he sees Tony’s frantic expression as he falls to his knees beside Peter.

“Stay with me, kid,” Tony pleads.

Peter wants to say that he will, that he won’t die, but then Tony presses down hard on the wound in his leg.

He never even hears the end of his own scream of pain, everything mercifully going dark as he passes out.

* * *

Peter wakes to the sound of someone snoring deeply.

No, make that two people snoring.

Oh wait, Peter drowsily and belatedly realizes. That’s wrong too. Make that _three_ people snoring.

With a small groan he opens his eyes, his blurry vision clearing up to find he’s in an all-too-familiar medbay room. On each side of him are Tony and May, both deeply asleep by the sound of it, each holding one of Peter’s hands in a limp grip.

Just beyond Tony, Happy is similarly conked out, feet crossed and raised up on the bed, one of his socked soles barely grazing one of Peter’s own. In fact, the only limb of Peter’s that _isn’t_ being touched in some way is his thickly bandaged right leg.

The sight of it brings everything else back to Peter, who gasps in recognition as he recalls everything that had happened the last… however many days ago.

The sound is enough that May wakes with a sudden snort, blinking once before glancing over at Peter only for her eyes to go wide.

“Hi sweetheart,” she whispers tenderly, then looking over at the other adults adds in a louder tone, “Happy, Tony! Wake up! Look who’s decided to join us, finally.”

The pair immediately come to, sporting rather comical twin expressions of disorientation as they both wipe at their faces. They smile at the same time too when they see Peter is in fact awake for themselves, Happy pulling his feet off the bed and leaning in while Tony squeezes Peter’s hand.

“Hey kid, how ya feeling?” he asks gently, chuckling when Peter makes a face.

“Tired. Sore. Ready to get out of this bed,” he replies with a yawn.

“Hmm. Which one of those things doesn’t go with the others, I wonder?” May teases, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. “Sorry bud, but you’re gonna be in here for at least another few days. That leg injury is no joke.”

“That bad, huh?” Peter asks, the adults’ faces twisting up in unison as they all nod together.

“It was a close call, Pete,” Tony admits.

“At least my danger sense isn’t pinging around you anymore,” Peter replies with a smirk.

“Not a very great trade, if you ask me,” Tony mutters angrily, rolling his eyes. 

Peter gives him an apologetic smile. “Who were those guys, anyway?” 

“Some assholes who messed with the wrong people,” Happy says rather aggressively. “Bunch of lowlife opportunists and nothing more. Don’t worry Peter, my team swiftly handled them.”

Tony leans in, whispering in Peter’s ear, “Hap’s still a little put out that two of his men let you wander off so easily. Add to that me getting the first few punches in when we found you and, well…”

“I _am_ right here, y’know,” Happy grumbles, rolling his eyes as the rest of the group laughs before looking serious again. To Peter he says, “I’m sorry, kid. This never should have happened to you. Though I gotta say, that was good thinking, sending me that text.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says honestly. “I probably shouldn’t have done the actual wandering off, either.”

“Maybe not,” May interjects before Tony or Happy can respond, “but that’s something we can discuss when you’re _not_ just waking up after having life-saving surgery. Now, why don’t you get some more rest?”

As if on cue Peter yawns again. “Yeah, alright.”

This time when unconsciousness chases after Peter there’s no scream to accompany it, just the low voices of some of the most important people in his life as they gently converse over his head. He smiles to himself as everything fades out again. 

After all, there’s a lot worse places to be than in a hospital bed, recovering. Especially when you’re surrounded by people who love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: gunshot wounds, blood loss, canon-typical violence
> 
> (and despite seeksak being involved there is no MCD, we promise!)


	12. 'I can't see' | impaling | 'don't try to pin this on me'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s all?” Peter says, laughing. “I run around a city-sized obstacle course nearly every day. What makes yours so special?”
> 
> “Oh, I can’t give it all away that easily,” Bad Dude replies, clearly pleased with himself. “But rest assured, it’s not for the faint of heart. And you’ll only have five minutes to get through it, if you even can at all without your powers.”
> 
> Peter’s brow furrows. “Why only five minutes?”
> 
> “Because the moment you’re freed from those bonds and the course comes to life, a countdown starts across the room,” Bad Dude explains. “A countdown attached to a loaded crossbow. One which is aimed directly at Tony’s heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: blood and injury, threat of death, non-consensual drug use, kidnapping, villains making bad jokes

Peter wakes to total darkness. His entire body feels weak, sat upright in a chair but his wrists strapped to the handles by cold metal.

“Wha’s…” he trails off, trying to blink away the black in his vision only to realize that it’s not going anywhere. Either he’s in a room with absolutely zero light, or he’s blind. Panic overwhelms him for a moment, a small sound escaping him as he tries to pull at his metal bonds. But there’s no give. “Oh god, I can’t—I can’t see!”

It’s then he hears a distant groan, the echo of it telling him instantly that he’s in a large room, maybe even warehouse-sized. But that’s all he can tell, his enhanced hearing seemingly muted, just as it appears his super strength is gone too.

Only when he tries to break the metal straps again and his shoulders strain does he finally register the weird metal collar around his neck. He feels his eyes go wide as his brain instantly makes the connection between his missing powers and the contraption. Oh god, is he—is he at  _ the Raft? _

Peter takes deep breaths, trying to remember what he was doing before he woke up here. It was Saturday afternoon, and he was grabbing lunch with Tony. They’d gotten gyro sandwiches at a diner in Queens, then ordered one to-go to drop off at Mount Sinai with May for when her next break came.

They’d been just blocks from the hospital, cutting through an alley when Peter’s danger sense had gone off. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to warn Tony however, before he’d felt a prick in his neck—a drugged dart, he knows now—and everything had gone dark.

Yet everything is  _ still  _ dark even now he’s awake, Peter feeling the earlier panic rise to the surface again as he frantically tries to free himself, rocking his chair back and forth to the point that he can tell it’s about to tip over.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Peter quits moving, the chair settling again as his head swivels around, trying to place the source of the unfamiliar male voice. “Who—who’s there?”

“Ah yes, I nearly forgot. You can’t see.” It’s coming from his right, Peter realizes. But like the groan, it’s not super close by. Closer than the earlier noise though, he’s fairly sure. “Don’t worry, Peter. It’s not permanent, merely an adjustment I made to the dampening collar, just for you.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Peter replies. “Who are you? What do you want? And where’s Mister Stark?”

“Who I am isn’t important,” the man replies. “All you need to know is that I’m someone who has a bone to pick with your precious mentor. And if there’s one thing that seems to  _ really _ bother Tony Stark, it’s when one of the few people he actually gives a damn about are in danger.”

There’s another low groan then from across the room, Peter alert enough now to recognize the tones. Loudly he calls out, “Mister Stark! Mister Stark, are you okay?”

“He’s just fine,” the man says dismissively, then more smug, “for now, anyway.”

Peter’s eyes narrow in the direction of the voice. “What does that mean?”

“It means that like you, Tony is presently in a bit of a pickle,” the man casually explains. “Specifically, strapped down to a chair and unable to move. For good measure I’ve also gagged him. Not quite as elegant as using a collar to subdue, but it was frankly a bitch getting my hands on even one of those babies.”

Tony tries to yell through his gag just then, clearly fully awake and listening in.

“Oh, do shut up Tony, won’t you?” the man yells across the large room. “Or sweet Peter here is going to be in a lot of pain even earlier than scheduled. And I know you don’t want me to let him loose in here without explaining. After all, you can actually see what’s between the two of you.”

That gets Tony to quiet down, although Peter doesn’t miss the disgruntled noise he makes before going totally silent. Despite their crappy situation it makes him smile a bit. If Tony can still put up a fight, then Peter can too.

“Alright, well, let’s get on with it,” Peter snarks. “What’s your big plan, mystery bad dude?”

The newly-nicknamed Bad Dude claps his hands, rubbing them together excitedly. “Oh yes, my favorite part of the show! The reveal!” 

“The suspense is killing me,” Peter sarcastically replies. 

“So, as you’ve likely figured out already, Tony is across the warehouse from you. And all you have to do is get to him and free him from his shackles. I’ve even left the key in your front right pocket. However, I’ve put together a little, shall we say,  _ obstacle course _ to spice up your journey.”

“That’s all?” Peter says, laughing. “I run around a city-sized obstacle course nearly every day. What makes yours so special?”

“Oh, I can’t give it all away that easily,” Bad Dude replies, clearly pleased with himself. “But rest assured, it’s not for the faint of heart. And you’ll only have five minutes to get through it, if you even can at all without your powers.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “Why only five minutes?”

“Because the moment you’re freed from those bonds and the course comes to life, a countdown starts across the room,” Bad Dude replies smarmily. “A countdown attached to a loaded crossbow. One which is aimed directly at Tony’s heart.”

Peter’s breath stills in his chest. It was one thing to think he was just trying to keep himself from getting killed, but now, knowing that Tony is in imminent danger if he fails? It makes the situation approximately a million times worse.

“That said, I’m a fair man, Peter,” Bad Dude continues. “My beef is with Tony, not you. So I’m going to give you the option right now to leave. Just say the word, and I’ll put another dart in your neck right now. I promise you’ll wake up safe and sound in the alley where I first grabbed you.”

Peter’s eyes narrow. “But Mister Stark stays?”

“The round-trip offer only applies to you,” Bad Dude replies, confirming Peter’s suspicions. “Tony booked himself a one-way ticket.”

Tony pipes up again then, yelling something through the gag. Peter can’t tell exactly what he’s saying but if he had to guess, it’s Tony ordering him not to be an idiot, to take the deal. 

“No can do,” Peter says firmly, and from across the room the angry noises turn up a notch. But Peter ignores his mentor, adding, “I’m not leaving Mister Stark.”

“I gotta hand it to ya, Pete,” Bad Dude replies after a few moments, sounding almost impressed, “You’re a brave kid. A stupid kid, but a brave one. Just don’t try to pin this on me if you die in the next couple minutes.” He chuckles, as if he’d just said something really funny. “Get it? Because I’m about to  _ pin _ an arrow through Tony.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you really suck at jokes?” Peter asks, rolling his eyes. 

Bad Dude hisses in a breath. “Fine,” he replies, unamused. “If that’s how you’re going to act, then I guess we might as well get this show on the road. I really wish I could stay, but I’m afraid I have a plane to catch. Though I’m sure I’ll get plenty of satisfaction reading about your gruesome deaths while sipping a pina colada on a sunny beach.”

“Whatever, man,” Peter replies, trying to sound bored. “Can we get started already? My aunt will be home at six with Thai. And I  _ never  _ miss Thai Night.”

“As you wish,” Bad Dude says. “Good luck, Pete. Not that it’ll be much help to you.”

Peter doesn’t reply, just waits until he hears the man exit through what he assumes to be a side door. 

With Bad Dude gone, Peter turns his focus back on Tony. His mentor had quieted down again, seemingly accepting Peter’s choice, but even without his enhancements he can sense his distress and concern.

“I can do this, Mister Stark,” he calls out. “I’m going to save you, I promise.”

Another muffled reply through the gag, but Peter knows the meaning well enough.  _ I believe in you, kid. Just please, be careful. _

The noise in the room dials up all at once then, Peter hearing what sounds like a machine turning on, mechanical parts stirring to life. Simultaneously he hears a beeping start—the timer on the crossbow, he guesses. But before he has time to dwell on that the metal straps over his wrists click open, freeing him. Peter instantly stands up, only realizing he’s barefoot when his toes touch cool cement. He files that information away for now, feeling first the collar around his neck—quickly confirming that without his enhanced strength he can’t tear it off—before double-checking his pockets. Just as Bad Dude said, there’s a set of keys in one, but otherwise they’re all empty—no wallet, apartment keys and most importantly, no phone.

He really is on his own for this, and the clock is already ticking. It’s now or never.

Arms raised up and out ahead of him, Peter starts to walk forward. After three steps his fingers trace around what feels like plexiglass on both sides. It’s a makeshift hallway, he realizes, and it’s beckoning him forward. He wonders if the walls are transparent, if Tony can see him. Probably, since Bad Dude had wanted him to suffer.

“Just be cool, Parker,” he whispers under his breath, the plexiglass disappearing as he enters what he senses to be a larger, if still enclosed, space of some kind. “Slow and steady wins the race. Well, not too slow, you only have four minutes and thirteen seconds left to— _ ow!” _

Something stabs him directly above his right hip bone, Peter instinctively going to feel whatever it is, and the sharp edge of a long blade slices through his finger. He stumbles to the side only for another object to impale him in the meat of his left shin, Peter crying out in pain. This must be the first obstacle, he realizes—a room of super sharp, potentially lethal objects.

He stills, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to ignore the pain in both his hip and leg. “Okay, Spider-Man. Just gotta find the path through and try to avoid all the pointy bits. Easy-peasy.”

It takes over a minute of his fast-dwindling time, but Peter manages to get through—albeit with dozens of cuts and deep slices, but thankfully none as nasty as that first hip stab. He can feel warm liquid trail down his leg as his heavily–sliced hands finally touch plexiglass again, no doubt smearing blood along the sides of the second narrow walkway as he feels his way along.

Distantly he thinks he can hear Tony yelling something through his gag, but it fades away when he comes up to the next obstacle.

This one is a bit easier to figure out, as it’s clearly a machine. Peter can hear what sounds like two giant blades slicing through the air pendulum-style, the perpetual  _ zing _ s like a louder version of a knife sharpener every time they slide past each other.

“Seriously? What is this, the freakin’ Temple of Doom?” Peter grumbles to himself. A bit louder he says, “I don’t know if you’re secretly watching this or whatever, Bad Dude, but if you are—this is kind of over-the-top, don’t you think?”

There’s no answer of course. Peter stands before the contraption for a while as he psychs himself up, trying to time the sound of the swinging blades just right for him to run underneath. The two aren’t in sync however, and wastes precious time trying to figure out the pattern.

The mental countdown in the back of his brain reaches two minutes and Peter frantically decides he has to make an attempt to get to the other side right now, or die trying. After three more swings of the dual pendulums he hears his opportunity, blindly sprinting forward while ducking as low as he can manage.

He hears the first blade swing just behind him as he runs, easily dodged. He’s not quite so lucky with the second one however, and it manages to slice across the very top of his shoulder blades. The pain is blinding in an entirely different way than his visual impairment is, and Peter cries out as he falls forward onto his knees.

He can feel jagged, torn muscle across his upper back, along with yet more blood trickling down his spine—quickly soaking what’s left of his shredded t-shirt and the top of his jeans.

Even after the worst of the excruciation fades Peter’s back still throbs in time with his hip, shin, and the more shallow wounds. He can feel himself getting more disoriented, recognizing through the growing haze that the blood loss is starting to affect him. But he forces himself to get back to his feet, shaking his head to try to clear the dizziness as he continues to stumble forward—feeling the plexiglass narrow again into a third walkway.

There’s only about a minute left when he finally hears Tony trying to yell his name through his gag. He sounds only a few yards away, if that.

“Mister Stark!” he says, smiling despite the pain he’s in as he feels the plexiglass walls disappear once more from beneath his fingertips. “I made it!”

A burst of adrenaline has him picking up his pace, the elation he feels at actually reaching Tony with a bit of time to spare paired with the wooziness from the blood loss causing him to ignore the man’s muffled calls of increasing distress.

That is, until he stumbles into a pit of fire.

Okay, so it’s not exactly fire, he realizes even as he cries out from the immediate pain that engulfs his feet. But it  _ is  _ white-hot coals, and Peter swears he can hear the skin of his soles sizzle even as he forces himself to continue on.

He makes it about five steps before one of his feet dig into the coals up to his ankle and he trips over the uneven surface. Terrified of injuring his face he instinctively puts his hands out to catch himself, only for them to land on a pair of sleek shoes.

“t-Tony,” Peter breathes out, letting go of both shoe-tips and using the man’s knees to pull himself back up to standing, before climbing up onto the slightly elevated surface and out of the burning coals.

Tony replies with an encouraging—if concerned—intelligible noise through the gag, and Peter can feel him trying to shift. Peter realizes why a moment later when he locates Tony’s hands shackled together behind the back of the chair. 

“Okay, okay, just gotta get those keys…” he says more to himself than his mentor, fumbling at his pockets. “Damnit, which one… there… ah, crap!”

There’s a sharp metal clap of the keys slipping from his bloody fingers onto the cement ground just as the countdown timer—now much louder to his ears than it had been inside the deadly course—goes from its regular beeping to something much faster and dire. By Peter’s own estimate he only has about ten seconds of time left now.

He hears Tony cry out something from behind his gag again, Peter leaning down and forcing himself to concentrate as he feels around. Finally he manages to locate the keys, picking them up and, still crouched down, feeling around for the lock to the shackles. The first key on the ring doesn’t fit the keyhole and he quickly tries the second one. Luckily it twists easily, Peter hearing a  _ click  _ of the shackles coming loose with maybe two seconds to go.

Peter starts to get to his feet, crying out, “Mister Stark, get up, get up, get— _ oof!” _

Peter is suddenly tackled from the side, hearing the  _ whizz  _ of an arrow go right by his head as he and Tony fall into a tangled heap on the floor.

“Ouchies,” he mumbles, only for panic to overwhelm him when Mister Stark still hasn’t moved from where he’s laid out half on top of Peter. Oh god. What if he got hit by the arrow, what if Peter failed, what if–

Tony groans again, sitting up and tearing off the gag. “Ouchies is right. I think I threw out my back with that twist maneuver.”

“Oh thank god. You’re alive!” Peter replies with a grin. He really did it! He saved Tony!

“I am indeed alive,” Tony dryly confirms, checking Peter’s pulse and letting out a sigh of relief at how strong it is before Peter hears him shuck off his suitcoat. “And you, kid, are an idiot. Why the hell didn’t you take that deal, huh?”

Carefully he helps Peter sit up, wrapping the coat around his hips and cinching it tight to contain the worst of the bleeding. He does the same with his overshirt around Peter’s punctured shin. His injured back will just have to wait.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always kinda wanted to try out for  _ American Ninja Warrior _ ,” Peter finally says with a playful shrug—wincing when it pulls on his torn shoulder blades. “Seemed like good practice.” 

“Is that all?” Tony says lightly as he feels around the collar next, trying to see if there’s a way to break it open. “And here I thought you just didn’t want to see your poor mentor get shish-kebabed.”

“Don’t get me wrong, that was a definite checkmark on the pros list,” Peter jokes back, feeling suddenly very tired as the adrenaline rush begins to fade. “But more like—like a bonus.”

Tony snorts but doesn’t reply, still trying to figure out how to remove the collar. 

“Damn thing,” he finally says, patting Peter’s shoulder again. “Sorry, Pete. Might have to leave that on for now.”

“The keys,” Peter replies, feeling his eyes droop closed. Carefully he moves to lay back down, Tony guiding his head until it gently rests on the floor once more. Lost in pitch black as Peter is, it’s even harder to stay awake than usual when he’s this injured. “Firs’ one din’t fit.”

“Beck can’t be that much of a dumbass, can he?” Tony murmurs to himself. Peter doesn’t bother asking who exactly that is or what he wanted to hurt Tony for, too focused on listening to his mentor collect the keys from the shackles and slide one easily into the locking mechanism on the collar. “Okay, turns out he is that much of a dumbass. Wouldn’t be the first time I overestimated him.”

“Wish I’d thought t’check that abou’ seven minutes ago,” Peter mumbles with a sigh just as the device unlatches, Tony gently removing it from around his neck.

One blink and Peter shuts his eyes tight again, the light too much after the prolonged darkness. Simultaneously he feels all his powers flood right back in with his sight, including—thankfully—his enhanced healing ability… and right after  _ that, _ his body’s need to consume every ounce of available energy for it, including the last bit he’s using to stay awake.

“M’sr Stark,” he mumbles as he squints his eyes open again, seeing Tony leaning over him, “Think ‘m gonna pass out now.”

Tony laughs, shaking his head at him with a knowing smile. “I figured your healing factor might be the last straw when it comes to you staying conscious. Just don’t go dying on me while I find us some help, and it’s a deal.”

“No pro’lem,” Peter promises, eyes closing again as he lets his mind float.

The last thing he’s aware of are fingers in his hair, followed shortly by a fond whisper. 

“You did good, kid.”

Smiling softly, Peter rests.  
  



	13. 'i wish i'd never given you a chance' | truth serum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, there it is.” The man moves around in front of Peter so he can see the curl of his lip, the distaste on his face. “The banter. The camaraderie. You can’t spit in New York without the famous duo hearing you, and doing something about it. And with what I want to do, I can’t afford that.”
> 
> “Gonna guess that whatever you want to do is, uh, not great,” Peter says, “or we wouldn’t have to stop you.”
> 
> “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be a ‘we’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said last time was my last solo chapter. i lied. life happens. enjoy!
> 
> ### warnings:
> 
> miscommunication, angst, falling outs, misuse of magic

Peter sits on the lip of a roof and watches the cops load Rhino into an armoured van, his suit carefully neutralised and splattered with webs. Something lands behind him.

“Good work, kid.”

“You too, Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark joins him, feet dangling over the edge of the building. “Are you supposed to encourage me? It feels weird. Like Luke telling Obi-Wan to use the Force.”

Peter grins under his mask. “First of all, I’m so proud of you for that reference. Second of all, everyone needs encouragement. Third of all, I’m hungry.”

“ _Yes_ , I have your donuts.” Mr Stark thrusts a box at him. “And soda. Keep your blood sugar up.”

“Coffee for you?”

“Of course.” Mr Stark takes a sip. Peter dives into his first donut. “I’m serious, you were great today, kid. Best sidekick I ever did have.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m joking! We make a good team though, right?”

“I think we do.” Peter starts to take a sip of his soda—and freezes when the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“What?” Mr Stark says quietly. He’s become very attuned to what he calls Peter’s early-warning system.

“Don’t know yet.” He whips his head around, searching for even the slightest indication of danger. Nothing.

“Shall we move? We can eat in the Tower, let’s go.” But even as Mr Stark gets to his feet, a bright white light appears in front of them, hovering at eye level. “What…?”

“That’s weird,” Peter says, “very weird.”

Everything is still for a second, almost peaceful, until the light lurches forward, straight for Mr Stark, and Peter moves without thinking, grabs the man’s waist to pull him out of the way, but he’s too slow. The light envelopes both of them.

Warmth, then nothing. 

* * *

“Kid. Hey, come on. Look alive.”

Peter’s first thought is _no_. His head hurts, and he’s sure opening his eyes is going to make it worse. 

“Come on.” The voice sounds more desperate, and it’s making him feel bad. “Are you okay? Give me a sign of life, bud.”

With great reluctance, Peter peels open one eye, but it doesn’t make his situation any better. He’s sitting in a hard chair across from Mr Stark—who sighs in relief when he sees the movement—in a large, otherwise empty room. Their wrists are tied to the chair arms, their ankles to the legs, with something that _glows_. Peter swallows. His mask is gone.

“Hey, kid,” Mr Stark says. “Good to see you up.”

The restraints don’t give when he tries to break free. “What the hell…?”

“I know. I don’t understand the glowstick crap either.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t budge.” Peter tries again. Nothing. 

“Ah,” Mr Stark says, barely concealing the panic on his face. “That’s—less than ideal.”

“Are you both finally awake?” The new voice comes out of nowhere, and Peter jumps horribly.

_Helpful, Spider sense. Really helpful._

“Good, good. It felt like forever. That spell did a number on you.”

“Spell?” Mr Stark repeats. He’s twisting in his chair, craning his neck to try and find the speaker. “Don’t remember signing up for the Harry Potter experience. Just Portkey us back to the roof. I didn’t even get a donut yet.”

“Funny. But no.” A figure appears beside Peter, pops out of thin air. “You’re here for a reason more important than donuts.”

“You wanna tell the kid there’s anything more important than donuts when he’s hungry?

Peter grins.

“Oh, there it is.” The man moves around in front of Peter so he can see the curl of his lip, the distaste on his face. “The banter. The camaraderie. You can’t spit in New York without the famous duo hearing you, and doing something about it. And with what I want to do, I can’t afford that.”

“Gonna guess that whatever you want to do is, uh, not great,” Peter says, “or we wouldn’t have to stop you.”

“By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be a ‘we’.”

That makes Mr Stark sit up straighter, narrow his eyes. “Do I want to know what you mean?”

“Well, clearly there’s a bond here, Stark, between you and this…child.” He gestures In Peter’s direction. “Bonds are built on trust.”

Of course Peter trusts Mr Stark. He trusts him with his identity. He trusts him with his life. What could this guy do to change that?

As if he’d spoken the question out loud, a small vial appears in the man’s hand.

“Whoa, that was cool, man!” Peter cries. “Mr Stark, did you see that? He’s doing magic. Can you teach me?”

“He’s funny,” the man says. “I see why you keep him around.”

“Yeah, for the witty repartee and nothing else.” Mr Stark nods towards the vial. “What’s in the bottle?” 

“Oh, this?” the man says in a way that implies _I’m glad you asked_. “I think you’d call it truth serum.”

“That’s your plan? Okay, well, kid, I think you should hear it from me first: I liked that Taylor Swift song you played the other day.”

“Knew it!” Peter crows. 

“I won’t miss hearing you two talk,” the man grumbles, and pours the contents of the vial into his palm. It isn’t liquid, like Peter had assumed, but a rolling cloud of purple smoke that weaves around his fingers. Just looking at it sends dread flooding through Peter’s veins, cold and numbing. “Time to get real, Stark.” And he throws it in Mr Stark’s face.

“Tickles,” Mr Stark says. 

“Tell me your full name.”

There’s no hesitation. “Anthony Edward Stark.”

“Good.” Their captor smiles. “Now tell me: what’s on your bedside table?”

“A lamp, because sometimes the dark scares me,” Mr Stark says, and he looks horrified at himself but he doesn’t stop talking. “The brief I need to look over for tomorrow’s board meeting. The plant the kid got me that’s still alive, somehow.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr Stark?” Peter asks quietly. “Are you—okay?”

“No, Peter, I’m not okay. We’ve been kidnapped and tied up by a wizard and now he’s put some kind of honesty spell on me.” The words are snappy, but apologies are written on his face.

“Peter, huh?” their captor asks, and Mr Stark looks aghast. “Now, Stark, what are your deepest darkest thoughts about Peter here? What thoughts do you have in the dead of night that you never want to see the light of day? Tell him, go on.”

The mounting horror in Peter’s gut twists when Mr Stark locks eyes with him. “I wish I’d never given you a chance.”

Peter struggles to comprehend the words for a long moment, but when he does— _ouch._

“I regret it almost every day. I wish I could go back and undo it all.”

No. That can’t be—but one look at Mr Stark’s face, at the wrenching sadness there, and any hope that it was a lie shrivels in an instant.

Mr Stark regrets everything. He regrets Peter. He’d prefer his life if he’d never shown up in Queens that day, never been there for Peter. He doesn’t want donuts or nights in the lab or teaming up for a fight. None of it. Peter looks away, trying his best to swallow down the rising lump in his throat.

“Ooh,” the man says, “that was good. You might not even need a turn, kid. You mean that, don’t you, Stark?”

“Yes.”

“I think we upset him.” The man moves back into Peter’s line of sight. “Are you really surprised? This is Tony Stark we’re talking about. He’s not going to care about some kid.”

So all of it was a lie. Everything. Getting takeout together. Working on their suits. Peter’s bottom lip trembles, but he won’t allow this man to see him cry, he _won’t_.

“Pete—”

“Quiet, Stark.” The man snaps his fingers. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

_Don’t cry, don’t cry._ But it’s close to impossible; the rejection is rearing up in his face, the _betrayal_.

“Quite enough,” the man muses, agreeing with his own question. “I think I’ll leave you to it.” He snaps his fingers again and vanishes. In the same second, the glowing ropes dissolve into nothing, and Peter scrambles off the chair.

“Peter—”

“Stay away from me!” he says sharply to hide the shaking in his voice, and zeroes in on red fabric in the corner of the room—his mask. A quick shake of the wrist confirms he still has his webshooters, so he webs his mask towards him and pulls it on.

“Kid, listen—”

“I’ve heard enough.” He turns, desperate for an escape, and spots an open window high up the wall. His way out.

But Mr Stark isn’t giving up. “Let me explain.”

“Explain what!?” Peter shouts. “You meant that!”

“It’s not like that—”

Peter jumps, shooting a web as he does, and lands halfway up the all. He climbs the rest of the way, slipping through the window before Mr Stark can call after him. 

It’s dark outside—they must have been missing for a few hours—but he can see the Queensboro Bridge so he swings towards it, finding his way home almost on autopilot.

_I wish I’d never given you a chance._

Earlier they’d been joking about _Star Wars,_ and now…

It’s fine. He was Spider-Man before Mr Stark. He can still be Spider-Man without him. He’s proven that, hasn’t he? Homecoming, and then all the times afterwards when he handled himself—he can do it. Spider-Man doesn’t need help.

_It’s not just Spider-Man,_ a small voice whispers, no matter how hard he tries to shove it down and ignore it, _is it?_

It doesn’t matter. Everything with Mr Stark—it’s done now. Takeout nights, his desk in the lab, fighting side by side. Done. Over. And it’s fine. He’ll be _fine_. 

It’s only when he’s made it home, climbing up the side of his apartment block and in through his bedroom window, that he lets himself cry.

* * *

“Hey, you busy?”

Peter smiles up at May hovering in his doorway. “Just doing some Calculus. Why?”

“I’m deciding between going out to eat or ordering in. If you have homework, we’ll get delivery.”

“Thanks.”

May stays where she is. “Tony called earlier.”

“ _Did_ he?” Peter forces out.

“He sounded worried.”

“Right.”

“You know I was wary of him at first,” she says, “but he cares about you a lot.”

_Clearly not._

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened—”

“Clearly something’s happened.” She shrugs off the doorframe and steps towards him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” She chucks his chin gently and turns to leave. “You boys usually sort it out anyway.”

_Except not this time._ “Yeah.”

“Larb? Pancake rolls?”

“Yes, please.”

“You got it. Larb you.”

“Larb you too, May.” Peter stares back at his Calc as she closes his door, his train of thought completely derailed. 

* * *

“Peter.”

“Mmph.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

Ned frowns at him. “Eat your lunch, come on. It’s going cold.”

Peter sighs and digs his fork into the lasagna, trying to work up an appetite.

“Why’re you moping?” MJ says over her book.

“I’m not moping.”

“You’re moping like you’ve broken up with someone.” She pauses. “Have you broken up with someone?”

“No!” Peter protests. “Not really—it’s weird. I had an argument with Mr Stark, and…” He sighs again.

“You broke up with Iron Man?” Ned hisses.

“We didn’t break up–!” Peter cuts himself off before he gets too loud. “I just—don’t think the internship is happening anymore.”

“Heard that before,” MJ mutters under her breath. 

“You guys are the dream team!” Ned cries, then catches MJ’s piercing gaze. “At, uh, lab stuff. You should see them welding. And soldering.”

“Uh-huh.” MJ checks her phone.

“What do you mean, you had an argument?” Ned presses. “Like, how bad was it? Cause you used to fight all the time. Mild fighting, you know? But still.”

Right. Back when Peter used to butt heads with Mr Stark about putting himself in unnecessary danger, and also their differing definitions of _unnecessary_. Looking back, knowing what he knows now, Mr Stark was probably just annoyed at the teenager that he never asked for and that he regrets meeting and being in his life—

“What did that lasagna ever do to you?”

He jumps, follows MJ’s line of sight down to his fork, which has churned his lasagna into an unrecognisable mess of mince, tomato sauce and cheese. “Just—not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” But she shrugs it off and turns her phone around. “Iron Man’s out with War Machine—still hate that name, by the way. It looks kinda serious.”

“Yikes.” Peter watches the newsfeed for a moment, watches the two suits swoop through the air, dodging blasts of light, only to freeze when he sees the attacker.

It’s _him_.

“Do you think Spider-Man’s gonna show up?”

“Uh…” Ned stutters. “Who knows, right? He has a really—weird schedule. Never know when he’s gonna—”

“I have to go,” Peter says, and gets up.

MJ stares. “Where?”

“Don’t feel great. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t hungry?”

“Peter—”

“I’lltalktoyouguyslaterbye!” And he sprints out of the cafeteria. 

* * *

“Karen, establish comms, please.”

_“You’re connected, Peter.”_

_“Shouldn’t you be in school, kid?”_ is the first thing he hears.

“Nice. Funny. Original.” Peter kicks off the side of a building as he swings and turns, heading towards the fight. 

_“That’s the War Machine experience. But seriously, it’s the middle of the day.”_

_“Hey.”_ Mr Stark sounds hesitant, but it still makes Peter grit his teeth.

“I’m here to do my job, okay?” That sounded closer to argumentative than cool and professional, but he’ll take it. “So just fill me in.”

Rhodey’s confused pause is comically loud. _“Right. You got it. So, this guy seems to be doing magic. He’s tried to open portals a few times, so—stop him doing that.”_

“Got it.”

_“Be careful, kid,”_ Mr Stark says.

“Thanks,” Peter says sourly, and dives into the fight.

* * *

It’s the hardest he’s ever had to work; he and Mr Stark used to be a flawless team, anticipating each other’s moves and watching each other’s backs. Now, it’s choppy and clumsy.

Bonds are built on trust, and theirs is gone.

“This is not the time for you two to be having a bad day!” Rhodey yells, before muttering, “They even have bad days at the same time.”

Peter dodges another spell, landing on the side of a building with a grunt. He scrambles up it, and sprints across the roof, and the heat of another blast singes his heels as he dives off the other edge.

“Man, you don’t give up!” he calls, swinging up onto the building opposite.

“I could say the same about you.” The ma—wizard—lands across the roof from him. “Still here, trying your best to stop me.”

_“Well, portals being opened in New York are historically not great.”_

Peter growls under his breath at Mr Stark’s voice. 

“And you’re here too,” the wizard says. “Not quite the inseparable team you once were, though.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Mr Stark lands in front of Peter and steps forward. “Still not gonna let you do—whatever you think you’re doing.”

“I’d explain, if your little brain could comprehend more than four dimensions.”

“Wow, rude,” Peter says before he can stop himself. 

The wizard sighs. “I was going to leave you both alive, but I guess I won’t make that mistake again.”

A split second: 

A spell is conjured, thrown straight at Peter. Peter moves. Mr Stark moves faster.

Strong metal arms wrap around his chest and Mr Stark takes off, swerving to avoid the blast of light. Peter’s so shocked he just lets it happen, and Rhdey swoops while the wizard is preoccupied, firing off shot after shot.

“If I put you down, will you listen to me?”

“You’re holding me hostage now?” Peter snaps. 

“Kid—”

“Fine!”

They land and Peter pulls away, folds his arms.

“Thank you.” Mr Stark’s faceplate folds back. He looks almost pained. “That—what I said—”

“Are you saying it wasn’t the truth? He lied about it?”

“No.”

_Great._ “So what’s there to talk about?”

“It wasn’t the _whole_ truth, kid, okay? I—”

“Is that supposed to be better?” Peter yells.

“Okay, you want the truth?” And Mr Stark’s yelling back. “Yes, sometimes I regret ever meeting you! Sometimes I lie awake at night with my thoughts going in circles because there’s a kid swinging his way around New York putting himself in danger. I regret that there are targets on your back that used to only be on mine. I regret that you’re on a fucking international radar! On the UN’s! On Ross’s! You’re not just a local vigilante anymore. I did that, kid!” Mr Stark breaks off, pressing his hand over his mouth. “You’re in more danger just for knowing me. Do you think I could ever want that?”

Peter’s mouth is hanging open. 

“So yes. Part of me is always going to regret bringing you into this life. Always. But the rest of me—shit, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

_Oh._

“Come on, look at you, Spider-Man. How could I not be? Sure, you like to scare the living daylights out of me sometimes, but it’s all part of the experience.” 

Peter closes his mouth, then opens it, then closes it again. 

“Kid?”

He steps forward and wraps his arms around Mr Stark’s waist.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Mr Stark hugs him back. “Am I forgiven?”

“So much,” Peter says, “and I’m sorry for not listening before—”

Something fizzles beside him, like electricity crackling, and he jumps back with a yelp. Mr Stark thrusts his arms out, repulsors fired up and aimed at the swirling circle of light and the man stepping through it. He’s wearing a dark tunic and a red cape, and his gaze is piercing when it lands on them. “Tony Stark. Peter Parker.”

“Who—who’s Peter Parker?” Peter manages.

The newcomer doesn’t acknowledge that. “Colonel Rhodes is doing well keeping the rogue sorcerer occupied, but we should still move quickly.”

“Oh, you’re just gonna jump in and take the credit?” Mr Stark demands.

“This is my job, and I don’t do it for _credit_. This sorcerer needs to be apprehended.”

“Why didn’t you apprehend him a week ago when he was fucking with me and the kid?”

“Because he wasn’t threatening your reality a week ago. We’re busy. We had more pressing concerns.”

“That’s reassuring,” Peter says, then, “Wait, we?”

“My order.”

“That sounds—cryptic.”

“We prefer our secrecy. As such, events like this are less than ideal.”

“They’re less than ideal for us too, man.”

“Then we’re agreed.” The man moves forward, sparks dancing around his fingers, then pauses. “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, by the way. I keep forgetting you don’t know that yet.”

And he steps off the edge of the building into thin air.

* * *

“So that was weird.”

They’re sitting on the edge of a building, shoulder to shoulder, legs hanging over the side.

“Yeah,” Mr Stark says. “Weird.” He’s silent for a moment. “Wouldn’t wanna be Rhodey right now.”

“Definitely not.”

After the new wizard-sorcerer-man—Doctor Strange?—had taken his ‘rogue apprentice’ somewhere—they literally have no idea where—Rhodey had been faced with the task of explaining to the DODC and the UN Security Council what exactly had happened.

“He had a beard like yours.” 

Mr Stark’s mouth falls open. “It was nothing like mine!” 

“It was a bit like yours.”

“If you keep this up, I won’t buy you donuts.”

“Oh, you were gonna buy me donuts?”

“Not anymore, I’m not.”

“Please?”

“…fine.”


	14. Burned | Coma | Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean, you could probably fit,” Tony admits after a moment as he considers the vent’s proportions. “But what if you get trapped yourself?”
> 
> “Then you can try cutting into it, like you said,” Peter says, already crouching down to shimmy his way inside. “Just make sure you get Jimmy out first, okay? He’s the priority, not me.”
> 
>  _Agree to disagree on that one_ ,Tony thinks but doesn’t say. He knows Peter would never forgive him if he didn’t choose the boy over him, and he’d be right not to. But the idea of Peter purposely crawling into a tight, and no doubt very hot, metal vent when this place is minutes—if not seconds—from collapsing into an explosive, deadly heap… well. Nobody can blame Tony for not being exactly happy about it.
> 
> “Just be careful, okay kid?” he finally says, and even through the mask Tony can feel the knowing look Peter is sporting as he glances up at him. 
> 
> “Always am,” Peter replies brightly. “I’ll see you on the other side, Tony. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing the month with a long boi because seeksak doesn’t know how to shut up. Also we defenestrated canon big-time for this one (Infinity War? Don’t know her). For chapter warnings and a final message from solkillerseeksak, see end notes.

“Ugh.”

“Is everything alright, Peter?” Karen’s voice rings out as Peter sighs, dangling his legs over the edge of a building.

“Everything’s  _ fine _ actually,” Peter says, taking a sip of his coffee as two pigeons circle overhead. He watches them carefully, his own history with these glorified rats with wings being contentious at best as he continues, “That’s part of the problem.”

Peter knows he’s being ridiculous as he watches the pigeons fly away, complaining about having  _ nothing  _ to do being the opposite of a problem. 

The one class he did have today got cancelled, going out on a patrol that had been relatively quiet all things considered. Ned was in a physics lab for most of the day and if the three unanswered texts he sent to MJ were any indication, she’d finally found inspiration for the project she was working on— Peter knowing by now that she kept her phone far away from her when she needed to focus. 

Peter briefly deliberates whether he should be a good student and get some homework done, only to dismiss it— thinking he’d rather swing around the city aimlessly than subject himself to his dimensional analysis homework. 

“I do not understand,” Karen says calmly, cutting through his thoughts, Peter laughing to himself before he downs the rest of the coffee. 

“Yeah neither do I,” Peter says, mostly to himself-- Karen having been his AI long enough to at least understand the cadence of his tone. He shouldn’t be complaining about having  _ nothing _ to do, not when that was almost too much like tempting fate. 

He lets himself fall from the building, sending out a web with one hand and deftly throwing his now empty coffee cup in another, hearing the oohs of some people on the ground as we swings away.

“Hey spidey!” he hears someone call out, Peter switching hands as he swings and salutes back to them-- the greeting sparking off a memory as he says, “Karen, what’s today? Friday right?”

“Correct.”

“Solid,” Peter responds, grinning underneath his mask as he switches course, making a hard left, “You still got the number for Enzo’s?”

“I have access to nearly every database publicly available, Peter,” Karen says, Peter thinking that if he didn’t know any better that she almost sounded a little exasperated. 

“Perfect. Put in an order of the double pepperoni I got last week, deliver it to the same address as before. Tell them it’s on the house,” Peter says cheerily as he swings, already giddy as he makes his way back towards the same apartment complex that he’s been hanging around for the better half of a month.

There were a lot of bad things to being Spider-Man, intervening when people were being robbed or being assaulted. It never got easier for him to hear their cries and a part of Peter hoped that it never would, if only so that he never became so desensitized to it that he lost sight of why he suited up every day.

But this— getting to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in the most basic of ways— was his favorite part of the job. Just hanging out with and checking in on the kids who used to be just like him.

After Ben died, May had to take three different jobs-- working nonstop in a way that Peter now, five years later, wondered how the hell she ever managed to do what she did while still making him feel like  _ he _ was still her priority. 

It was personal for Peter, to seek out the kids that he knew their parents-- in most cases their moms-- were trying their best but just needed a little help, grinning underneath his mask the closer he got to the basketball court.

“Spidey!” A kid calls out, laughing as a few new kids start pointing excitedly as a taller one with a faded Knicks jersey catches the ball, walking up to Peter as he lands in front of them. 

“Carlos, what’s up?” Peter asks, doing a modified version of the same handshake that he and Ned perfected-- and that Ned didn’t mind Peter sharing-- as Carlos shrugged.

“You know how it is.”

“Yeah dude,  _ I _ know how it is. What are you, twelve? Thirteen? Sounding like an old man,” Peter says with a laugh as Carlos rolls his eyes, laughing him off as some kids come up and ask for pictures.

Peter happily obliges, throwing up peace signs only to get a message across his HUD screen.

**[12:32pm] Tony Stank** : im bored

**[12:32pm] Tony Stank** : can you die from boredom?

**[12:32pm] Tony Stank** : think i might. save me from this mtg

Peter rolls his eyes, shaking his head in a motion that Karen recognizes that Peter will respond to the message later as Carlos responds, “I’m fourteen.”

“Oh  _ fourteen _ , my bad. My bad. Think I still won’t beat your little punk ass at horse?” Peter jokes, Carlos laughing as he throws the ball towards Peter.

“Bet. Let’s see what you got this time spidey.”

Peter gets ready to play, bracing himself only for the shrill shriek of sirens to blast through the neighborhood-- hearing some of the kids groan as Peter looks over to the direction that they’re heading as police cars and firetrucks head that way. 

“Aw man.”

“Come on spidey, play with us.”

“He can’t stay, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me--”

“Karen, what’s going on?” Peter asks, letting the mask zoom in as he starts to focus in his hearing-- his stomach dropping when he sees where they’re headed.

“There appears to be an apartment fire three blocks from--” Karen starts to say only for her voice to be drowned out by some of the kids.

“Shit, is that--”

“That’s our place!” 

Peter throws the ball to another kid, directing his attention to Carlos.

“Keep them here, keep them safe, alright?”

“You got it spidey,” Carlos says, sounding every bit as brave and as terrified as Peter had been when he was fourteen as Peter nods once in acknowledgement-- just barely catching Carlos start to direct the kids in the opposite direction as he sends a web out and launches himself into the air.

“Karen, what do we got?”

“I cannot determine the origin of the fire but it appears to be spreading rapidly,” Karen somberly replies as Peter swings towards it, his mind already running through the different options of how he can best help the firefighters and the paramedics that are already on their way. “Preliminary scans show that it may have originated in the breaker box in the basement.” 

Peter grits his teeth the closer that he gets to the building, growling in frustration as he says, “Of fucking course it is.” 

For as much as Peter tried to be there for the people of New York as Spider-Man, he also did his part as  _ Peter Parker _ \-- frustrated and angry as hell to realize that he was heading to the same building that he and MJ had spent the better part of three weekends working with advocacy groups to get the landlord to stop being a cheap piece of shit and fix the electrical problems, the fire in front of him showing it clearly hadn’t made a difference. 

“Map me out where there’s still people and the quickest, safest way I can get to them,” Peter directs as he swings closer, the heat and the magnitude of the flames already massive enough that Peter dreads what kind of damage could be accruing.

The thought of damage sparks another memory for Peter, swinging forward as he says, “And text Tony.”

He grits his teeth, glaring grimly at the fiery building in front of him.

“We’re gonna need all the help we can get.” 

* * *

Tony lets out a sigh, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Where is everyone in my time of need? Jeez,” he mutters under his breath.

He’d texted Rhodey, Happy, and the kid, practically begging each of them to get him out of this dreadfully abysmal quarterly SI board meeting. Normally Pepper was the one who went to these things, but she was attending the grand opening of a satellite research facility in Algiers. So here Tony is, stuck in a stuffy conference room with a bunch of pompous board members that remind him far too much of Obie, and nobody to save him. 

He nearly nods off twice more—the guy he’s sat next to giving him a wholly disapproving look the second time, to which Tony just grins back—before he pulls out his phone again, about to resort to sending _Steve_ of all people an SOS when someone finally replies.

**[12:41pm] Karen:** Good Afternoon, Mr. Stark. Peter is requesting your assistance with a multiple-alarm fire in Queens. I have sent relevant details to FRIDAY. 

**[12:41pm] Karen:** Peter also asks that you put in an order for four #3s with extra tzatziki from Fontana’s for afterward, as he is “freaking starving.”

“I knew I could count on you, Pete,” Tony says to himself before standing up—the board all turning from the presenter at the front of the room to look at him with raised eyebrows.

“I’m afraid I have to go, gentlemen,” he announces, pressing a button on his watch that immediately activates his suit, which expands around him smoothly. “Got an emergency that requires Iron Man’s assistance.”

“But we haven’t even gotten to the budget review slides,” the presenter dumbly argues, looking halfway between stricken and offended.

“And while I’m sure that’s  _ very _ riveting stuff, this current crisis takes precedence,” Tony replies authoritatively, motioning for FRIDAY to open one of the conference room windows. He walks over, turning back to the board members and giving them a mock-salute. “Hasta la vista, boardies.”

He blasts into the sky before any of them can muster a reply.

* * *

Peter is just depositing his fourth person to safety when he hears the familiar sound of the Iron Man suit approaching. 

“Hey kid,” Tony greets as he flies up to him, hovering. He glances over at the burning building. “And here I thought you were just giving me an excuse to get out of that meeting, but this looks like a real mess.” He looks back at Peter. “It’s your show, spidey. Where do you need me?”

Were the situation not so dire Peter would have smiled at the confidence he hears in Tony’s voice—at the automatic deference he gives to Peter’s authority, who had been helping to manage the situation from the get-go. Gone were the days when Tony considered him too new and naive to handle things like drug busts, or weapons smuggling, or large fires. Peter had proven himself time and time again, and eventually Tony, along with the other Avengers, had come to treat him not as the kid he had been but as the capable hero he was now. And to think Tony now saw him as less of a mentee and more of a partner? It never failed to make Peter feel proud of himself, of how far Spider-Man had come.

“We still got civilians on floors five, six, and seven,” Peter says in lieu of a greeting, pointing up to the building as the Iron Man suit turns to it again-- no doubt scanning to see where he was talking about as Peter continues, “Firefighters are working hard to control it but--”

“The fire’s making everything unstable,” Tony finishes for him as Peter sends a web up to the lamp post, swinging himself up until he’s eye level with Tony. 

“I can’t get them all,” Peter says grimly, watching as the Iron Man helmet moves back towards him. “But if we split up--”

“Split up?” Tony interrupts, sounding uncertain. “Pete, your suit can withstand a hell of a lot of damage but Fri’s got this building reading at--” 

“I’m not losing these people, Tony,” Peter says firmly, a bite to his tone that he doesn’t mean-- hearing the screams still of people still stuck inside. 

Tony doesn’t hesitate-- the helmet of the suit nodding once before he says, “Got it. Let’s go then, kid.”

Peter nods once under the mask, sending out another web to launch him back into the building as Karen taps into Friday’s comms saying, “I’ll take the east wing of four, five and six.”

“Meet you back here in twenty for some gyros?” Tony says lightly, a joke that’s meant to set Peter on ease-- something that works-- as Peter laughs.

“You got it, old man.”

* * *

It takes more than twenty minutes but Peter doesn’t care, focused and driven on getting as many people as they can out as possible. Working in tandem with Tony, the firefighters and with people in the neighborhood makes them almost as functional as a machine-- depositing people to the paramedics, telling the firefighters where they’ve cleared and communicating with Tony on how many people are still missing. 

Peter’s finally,  _ finally _ feeling like they’ve reached the point where they have everyone-- letting out a huff as he gently lands back on the ground when Tony asks, “Is that it?”

“I think so,” Peter says, patting the person he has on the back as a paramedic rushes forward-- thanking Peter as they take them away.

“Looks like I got more out than you, Pete. You are  _ slacking _ , Spider-Man. Guess you’ll be the one who has to pay at Fontana’s,” Tony says over the comm. Peter can’t see him but he figures he’s getting out of the building now, laughing as shakes his head.

“Come on, old man. You’re saying you need  _ me _ to spot you? That’s not--”

Whatever Peter’s going to say gets drowned out when he hears a familiar cry, turning to it and seeing a woman that he’s seen several times before.

“Jimmy? Jimmy!?” The woman shrieks, Peter rushing to her as she runs forward-- a paramedic stopping her before she can move forward.

“Ma’am, you need to--”

“Jimmy! Jimmy, where-- Spider-Man, have you seen Jimmy?”

Something catches in Peter’s throat, especially when he recognizes the mom that’s in front of him. Jimmy was a six-year-old kid that lived on the sixth floor, apartment 6C if he remembered right. Peter looks back over to the building as he says, “Karen, scan the sixth floor.” 

“There is no one there, Peter,” Karen says, finally seeing Tony fly out of the building. 

Peter frowns. “Tony, can you--”

“Heard it, kid. FRI confirms, no one’s there.”

“Jimmy’s there, I know he is. He stayed home sick from school and I-- I couldn’t get a sitter,” the woman says, some of her blonde hair falling out of her ponytail as she sobs.

Peter’s heart immediately clenches, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he gently places a hand to the woman’s shoulder. Peter thinks her name is Sandra, or maybe Sharon-- knows that she does her best and knows from Jimmy that he thinks his mom is the coolest for working at the twenty-four hour diner down the road, bringing back forgotten boxes of leftovers to reheat as a surprise midnight snack whenever she could.

“He just had a cold,” she says, stuttering over herself, “I didn’t-- I didn’t think--”

“Stay here,” Peter says affirmatively but as kindly as he can before turning and launching himself back in the air. 

“Spider-Man!” a tired-looking firefighter nearby calls up to him, “I’m not sure if that’s a good--”

“I know Jimmy, I know where he's hiding,” Peter says as he pauses to look back down, his memory jogging when he thinks of the six-year-old that Peter’s hung out with on more than one occasion while his mom was working at the diner.

Peter promises himself that he’s not going to let this woman lose her child as he says to her, “I’m gonna find him okay? I’m gonna find him.”

Sandra-or-maybe-Sharon works to compose herself, the firefighter looking at him with a grim smile.

“Then good luck, Spider-Man.”

Peter nods, then launches himself back towards the fire. 

* * *

Tony lands back down in the thick of the first responders, looking up and down the street. When he doesn’t see Peter, he turns to the nearest firefighter, who is staring up at the burning building with a fierce focus.

“You haven’t seen Spider-Man anywhere around here, have you?”

The firefighter doesn’t even glance at him, just points up at the building. “Yeah, he went back in.”

“Back  _ in _ ? But we cleared the building,” Tony says, concerned as he looks up again. The place is practically an inferno now, Tony feeling a grim certainty that even if there were people still trapped in there, that there was no chance they were still alive.

“That lady swears her son is still inside,” the firefighter responds, his finger moving from the direction of the building to a near-hysterical woman just a few feet away.

“Let me guess,” Tony says, recalling Peter’s request for a scan not a minute before, “you live on the sixth floor?”

“Please!” the woman suddenly pleads, grabbing his armored bicep, “Help him get Jimmy out! He has to be so scared, oh god–”

Tony doesn’t make her any promises, knowing that the little boy’s chances were close to nil. Instead he nods as goes to carefully hover in the air until she lets go of his arm, before blasting up toward the sixth floor—looking for a safe entry point.

“Kid, report,” he says into his comms. When there’s no immediate answer, he rockets through a window that’s not quite yet covered in flames, his concern going up a few notches as he races through the apartment’s front room and into the heavily damaged hallway, looking around as he says, “FRIDAY, where is–”

“I found him, Tony,” Peter’s voice suddenly rings in his ear. But for all that Tony is relieved to hear the kid’s voice, the grave tone that tinged his declaration makes his heart sink.

“Shit Pete, I’m sorry. I know you tried your best, though. Can’t save every–”

“He’s still alive,” Peter interjects, Tony’s eyebrows raising as FRIDAY directs him into the apartment where Peter is. It’s thick with dark smoke and the wall adjacent to the hallway is burning, but otherwise the place is mostly intact. It won’t be that way for much longer though, he knows.

Peter is standing in the front room, shoulders immediately untensing when he catches sight of Tony. And if  _ that _ doesn’t make Tony feel like he’s done something right with Peter over the years, nothing else will.

“Where is he?” Tony asks, Peter pointing down to an open air vent. _Damn_ , Tony thinks— _what kind of landlord doesn’t even pay for vent covers?_

“Jimmy must have crawled in to get away from the smoke,” Peter guesses. “I can hear him crying in there. I think he’s stuck!”

“Okay, okay,” Tony says mostly to himself as he thinks, assessing their options. “Well, if you can pinpoint his location, I can break through the wall and cut him out of the vent, and then–”

“No way,” Peter argues, “this whole place is made of the cheapest materials the owner could get away with. I don’t trust that the vent will hold if we cut into it—it’ll just collapse down a floor or even to the basement. No, I think… I think I need to just go in there and find him.”

“Excuse me, you want to go  _ in  _ there?” Tony exclaims.

“Yeah,” Peter says as though it’s obvious. “According to the public blueprints, this vent connects up with a larger vent in the laundry room at the end of the hallway, on the far side from where the fire started. Once I find Jimmy I’ll get us out the other side. We can meet you in the laundry room and get out through the window there.”

“I mean, you could probably fit,” Tony admits after a moment as he considers the vent’s proportions. “But what if you get trapped yourself?”

“Then you can try cutting into it, like you said,” Peter says, already crouching down to shimmy his way inside. “Just make sure you get Jimmy out first, okay? He’s the priority, not me.”

_ Agree to disagree on that one, _ Tony thinks but doesn’t say. He knows Peter would never forgive him if he didn’t choose the boy over him, and he’d be right not to. But the idea of Peter purposely crawling into a tight, and no doubt very hot, metal vent when this place is minutes—if not  _ seconds— _ from collapsing into an explosive, deadly heap… well. Nobody can blame Tony for not being exactly happy about it.

But if there’s one thing he promised himself he would work on when the kid turned eighteen the year before, it was to stop being overprotective in the field. Peter had earned that, not just from Tony but from  _ all  _ the Avengers, and as the group took their cues mostly from him when it came to the kid—it was on Tony to be the leader in that regard. Which meant trusting Peter to look after himself in dangerous situations, and in turn to be honest when he  _ did _ need help. 

So no, Tony wasn’t happy about it. But he wasn’t going to fight it, either. Peter deserved that trust. And Tony  _ does _ trust him, even if he still worries.

“Just be careful, okay kid?” he finally says, and even through the mask Tony can feel the knowing look Peter is sporting as he glances up at him. 

“Always am,” Peter replies brightly. “I’ll see you on the other side, Tony. I promise.”

Tony nods solemnly, watching through the thickening smoke as Peter army-crawls into the vent, soon disappearing completely.

“Damn kid,” he mutters to himself as he flies back into the hallway—the floor now completely gone beneath him—and makes his way to the laundry room to wait until he can be of use again.

_ Stay safe, Pete. _

* * *

_ Come on Jimmy, where you at?  _ Peter thinks to himself as he crawls through the vent, the heat from the building making the inside feel like a furnace. Even through the suit, it gives him the same feeling as coming down a metal slide on a hot day— gritting his teeth at thinking of Jimmy being in here without a suit to protect him. 

“Karen, where is he?” Peter asks, only for his stomach to drop when Karen’s reply is garbled.

“He— three feet—“

“Karen? Karen, what’s going on?” Peter asks as he continues to crawl forward, pressing his lips together as her voice cuts in and out.”

“My syst— heat at critical—“ before Karen’s voice fizzles out, Peter hearing something that almost sounds like static in his mask before she goes quiet.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters before crawling faster, closing his eyes as he focused in on Jimmy’s distant sobs.

“Jimmy? Buddy? It’s me, Spider-Man. Can you hear me?” he calls out, relief flooding through him when he hears the muffled sobs start to get louder.

“Spider-Man! I’m stuck!” Jimmy calls out, Peter just barely fitting as he turns a corner, finally seeing Jimmy huddled up in the vent. 

“Hey buddy, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out alright?” he says, Jimmy nodding even if tears are still streaming across his cheeks before he coughs.

“It hurts,” Jimmy cries, Peter swallowing down the lump in his throat as he looks down to the first-degree burns on Jimmy’s legs, streaks of inflamed pink across his pale white skin as Peter works to get closer.

“I know, I know it hurts but I’m gonna get you out, you’ll get all fixed up and then we’ll go get ice cream alright?”

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah, all the ice cream you want,” Peter says, trying to move closer only to realize that the vent that Jimmy is nestled in is too small even for him. Peter’s taken enough AP physics to know that the vent wouldn’t be able to hold his weight— wondering based on the continued inferno billowing out across the building how it was holding up Jimmy at all. Peter extends out a hand, beckoning Jimmy with his fingers as he says, “Come on, Jimmy. Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m scared!” Jimmy cries, only for Peter’s stomach to drop when he hears the building groan— terror seizing him for a bit before he swallows that down and nods.

“I know you’re scared but you gotta trust me, okay? You trust me?”

Jimmy sobs, curling his knees up to his chest and causing Peter to panic from how the vent shakes— wondering how much time he has left before the vent collapses and knowing that no matter how long it is, he won’t be quick enough to catch him in time. 

Peter acts on instinct, moving his hand to rip off his mask so he can look at Jimmy eye to eye— watching Jimmy’s eyes widen as he says, “Come on, it’s me. It’s Spider-Man. I’m right here with you, okay? You gotta be really brave and crawl over to me alright? Can you do that? Can you crawl to me?”

Jimmy sobs again— his tiny shoulders shaking before he nods, slowly moving to crawl towards Peter who reaches as much as he can.

“That’s it, you got this. You’re doing so great, Jimmy. Almost there,” Peter says as he extends his hand out, not letting himself feel too much relief when Jimmy gloms onto his neck— coughing so violently that it twists Peter insides.

“Alright, I got you. I got you,” Peter says as he leans back into the vent space from before, gently balancing Jimmy with one hand and using his sticky strength with the other, looking at the three available vents in front of him to crawl through. 

“Here, put my mask on. It’ll help you breathe,” Peter says, feeling his eyes start to water from the smoke and the heat as Jimmy does what he’s told— mentally running through the blueprints that Karen had showed him minutes before.

He doesn’t have time to waste, thinking of his available options before focusing his hearing— hearing the rattle of pipes that he distinctly remembers from the last time he’d been over here, opening them and holding onto Jimmy tight as he chooses one. 

“You okay? You still with me?” Peter asks, feeling Jimmy’s head nod as he burrows his head into his neck— gripping onto Peter tight as he crawls through the vent, the vent itself growing wider in confirmation that this was the right one.

The fire in the building doesn’t compare to the fire he feels in his heart at the memory of how the landlord had defended the shitty wiring and building decisions, remembering the look on MJ’s face in the seconds before she called him out on his bullshit.

Ridiculous or not, Peter pushes forward now— hearing the building groan again as Jimmy sobs into his shoulder.

“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay. We’re almost— almost there—“ Peter’s cut off with a coughing fit, knowing Tony would yell at him for taking off the mask but still glad that he did.

If Peter was already feeling the effects of inhaling the smoke, he can’t let himself waste precious time to think about how this could be affecting Jimmy.

The proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel pushes Peter forward, another confirmation that he’s on the right track when he hears Tony call out.

“Spider-Man! Kid, where—“

“Over here,” Peter yells out, only to see the glow of the Iron Man mask fly up to the entrance of the vent—  _ hearing  _ Tony’s simultaneous disapproval at seeing him without a mask when he says, “Kid—“

“Take Jimmy,” Peter says, repositioning him towards the front. 

Tony, to his credit, does so without hesitation— Jimmy’s little arms reaching out for the Iron Man suit before latching onto him just as easily.

Tony hesitates for a second, the glow of the Iron Man mask still somehow filled with concern as he says, “Kid—“

“Right behind you, old man,” Peter says with a laugh, moving forward. When Tony continues to pause, he adds lightly, “You still owe me four gyros after this.”

Tony snorts. “Pretty sure I got a bonafide  _ gyro _ right in front of me.” 

Peter rolls his eyes—knowing Tony is just trying to mask his worry with a terrible play on words. But it’s enough to get the man moving again, gently taking the Spider-Man mask off of Jimmy and throwing it to Peter who deftly catches it and shoves it back on. 

As Tony flies out, Peter lets himself feel the barest hint of relief as he moves to get out only to feel something in his suit snag— the building groaning again as he glances down.

“Come on,” Peter says to himself, reaching down and pulling hard on the suit as it easily dislodges from the slowly warping vent— only for his heart to leap into his chest when he hears something like lightning cracking, feeling himself move into free fall as the vent finally collapses.

It’s not so dissimilar to what it feels like to swing through the city, Peter bracing himself as he falls— knowing there’s no chance of getting himself out.

It’s like time moves in slow motion, feeling the heat and the flames all around— closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as the vent caves in around him, seconds away from impact.

Peter gets the chance to be glad that Jimmy’s safe, that at least he got everyone out safely— taking solace in the fact that he got to keep the promise that he gave to Jimmy’s mom that she wouldn’t have to lose her child.

Peter tries very hard not to think of how he’s breaking that same promise to May as the vent closes in around him— throwing his hands over his head as the vent makes impact, launching him into a burning darkness. 

* * *

It’s Tony’s worst nightmare, come to life.

He’s just handed Jimmy to his very grateful mother, only to turn back to make sure Peter got out when everything turns loud and bright. He instinctively shields his eyes, only to watch in horror as the building collapses in on itself, brick and flames and warped metal all crumbling down to the ground in a massive, explosive heap.

The heat is too much even for his suit now, and FRIDAY is throwing up warning and warning as Tony flies into the fiery debris, searching for Peter, for any sign that he made it, that he’s not hurt, or.. or–

“Spider-Man!’ he calls into the wreckage. When there’s no answer, “FRIDAY, scan for him, find him right  _ now,  _ we need to get him out before–”

“The Spider-suit has gone offline,” Fri replies, sounding worried. “The last communication from Karen came in twelve minutes ago. It was an emergency warning that the suit’s system was overheating, which suggests that–”

“It’s just a glitch,” Tony tells her angrily as he continues to desperately peer into the rubble. “It’s a glitch, it has to be.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY says more gently, “the fire’s temperature is far too hot, even for your own suit. And the Spider-suit is not built for–”

“Don’t tell me what it’s built for!” he snaps at the AI. “I made the thing, I know what it can handle. And it was never tested in this level of heat, so maybe… just find him for me, Fri.  _ Please.” _

There’s silence for a few moments, Tony hovering over the heap. 

“I have found a human heat signature,” FRIDAY says, “but it is buried deep, and unmoving.”

“Just tell me where to go,” Tony orders. “I’ll dig as long as it takes. I’m getting him out, and he’s gonna be fine, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Boss,” Fri says, but her tone is perfunctory, as though she’s purposely muted her EQ coding. Tony wishes it were that easy to remove his own emotions from the current situation. “He’s thirty feet to your right, about ten feet underneath the top of the wreckage.”

The next few minutes are spent in a hot hell of panic and desperation, sweat dripping from Tony’s brow into his eyes even as the firefighters—after containing the blaze—rain water down over Tony’s head, trying to quell the flames around him as he works to dig out their neighborhood hero. 

He tosses away blackened brick and twisted metal and charred wood, dozens of pieces of random debris so burned as to be unrecognizable, all in an effort to reach Peter. He can see the kid’s location through the HUD, but just as FRIDAY said Peter remains unmoving, splayed out on his stomach with his arms laying above his head, almost as if he’d been waiting for someone—Tony—to grab onto him, to save him from this horrid, horrifying fate.

It feels like forever but can’t have been more than ten minutes when Tony blasts away the last few bricks to discover a long, warped metal vent underneath. 

“He’s still in there, Boss,” Fri says. “You’ll need to cut through to reach him.”

Tony doesn’t think about how that plan had initially been dismissed, just uses the circular saw built into his suit’s tool set to carefully cut away the top of the vent, using an arm to tear it up and away.

He takes in a sharp breath at the sight inside.

Peter is a mess, the suit charred and blackened in some places, totally disintegrated to reveal burnt and damaged skin in others. There’s not much blood, the burns acting as their own form of cauterization. Normally Tony would be grateful, but at the moment all he can imagine is the possible nerve damage, gently pulling Peter out of the vent and turning him around in his arms. 

Peter is a mess, but he’s alive—Tony feeling the kid’s lungs heaving with every wheezy breath against his palms. The relief is overwhelming enough that he can’t help the small relieved sob that tears from his throat. 

Peter is alive, and has clearly fought with everything he has. Now Tony has to make sure he stays that way. 

“I got you, Pete,” he vows as he flies up into the air, heading in the direction of the tower. He hears cries of “save Spidey!” and “take care of our hero!” behind him but he pays them no attention, focusing only on the young man cradled in his arms. “Scan him, FRIDAY.”

As Fri checks vitals Tony does his own more careful visual assessment, taking in first the kid’s half-burnt mask. Luckily it hadn’t been burned all the way through, Tony hoping Peter’s face and head isn’t as damaged as the rest of him appears to be. While he continues to be relieved Peter isn’t dead, he can’t help the horror he feels at just how injured the kid is either.

“It’s not good, Boss,” FRIDAY finally says, giving it to him straight as she tosses up Peter’s vital signs on his HUD. “The dermal damage is third degree over roughly twenty percent of his body and first and second degree over forty percent, mostly on his limbs and chest. Additionally the suit has melted into his skin in places as well, mainly along his lower legs. He is also suffering from shock. He requires immediate medical assistance.”

“We’ll be at the tower in two minutes. Let the medbay staff know to expect us,” Tony orders. To Pete he says, “Just hang on, kid. I’m getting you help, but you have to keep fighting.”

Of course it’s that moment that Peter shudders in Tony’s arms. His vital signs are going haywire, alert after alert popping up.

“Shit, Pete—don’t you do this, kid!” Tony barks at his trembling form, then, “Fri, what can I–”

“You’re doing everything you can, Boss,” FRIDAY says, then, “I have alerted medbay personnel to the situation. They are waiting with a gurney on the level balcony.”

Later, Tony won’t entirely remember what happened next. What he does know is that Peter went from bucking with every breath, each inhalation raspy and rattled, to suddenly far too quiet and still—silently slack even as Tony screams at him to  _ not do this, damnit,  _ to  _ not go. _

Yet if Peter heard him, he hadn’t obeyed—still terrifyingly limp in Tony’s arms right up until he set him down on the gurney, watching as he was whisked away by the nurses and doctors. 

But beyond all those hazy memories, the detail that Tony will remember most—cropping up in his nightmares for years to come—will be the black flakes that cover his suit’s chest and arms, the residue of Peter’s charred suit and burnt skin.

Tony will dream about that moment every so often, and wake up with a stifled cry. And as he tries to go back to sleep he’ll think once again about how he’d give anything not to have this so gruesomely etched into his memory.

Give anything not to know what it’s like to be left alone with almost nothing and no one for company, except the ashes of a kid you cared for beyond compare.

* * *

Darkness.

A deep, nearly unfathomable darkness.

Distantly, somewhere in his mind— Peter knows that he’s hurt and he’s hurt bad.

He doesn’t feel it though, feeling weightless and weighed down all at the same time as he drifts in and out— waiting for the pain that no matter how much time passes, never comes. 

Even in his muddled state, Peter knows this is also a bad thing.

* * *

_ “Oxygen levels crit—“ _

_ “—losing him. Get a crash—“ _

_ “Come on, Parker. Come on—“ _

Peter drifts.

* * *

_ “How bad is it?” _

_ Peter hears someone sigh, exhausted and voice trembling slightly as they say, “It’s not good.” _

_ “How bad?” The first voice asks again, soft and warm and reminding of warm vanilla, of burnt toast and more cream than coffee.  _

_ “Suit fucking-- it melded with his skin,” the second voice says-- black coffee and motor oil and rough around the edges. “If he’d been down there for five more minutes--” _

_ “He wasn’t,” the first voice says again, calm and quiet and filling Peter with peace. “You can’t think about what could’ve been, Tony.” _

_ Peter hears a laugh, choked off and desperate-- his mind starting to drift again as the second voice says, “Have you met me?” _

_ The first voice laughs slightly, feeling himself fall further and further into darkness when the second voice continues, “How are you so calm?” _

_ “I have to be,” the first voice says, the slightest tremble that Peter only barely hears-- sinking deeper into what feels like a never ending darkness. _

_ “I have to believe he’ll come back.” _

* * *

Consciousness, if it could be called that, comes to Peter in waves.

Not waves, there’s no waves-- the lack of pain that Peter had felt before crashing over him in increments that feel less like an ocean lapping at the seashore and more like jolts of lightning anytime he tries to move.

Peter doesn’t think he’s moving but he can hear and feel  _ everything _ \-- a burning that feels as if it’s coming from the inside out, the acrid smell of flesh and plastic and cloth burning his nostrils just as the screams of someone in the distance churns up his insides-- only for the screams to be drowned out by beeping and voices until there’s nothing but darkness once again. 

Time passes, though how much Peter isn’t sure of-- the blipping moments of consciousness he has feeling less like waves and more like tuning the frequency of a radio station, brief moments of clarity before endless static.

It’s fuzzy and messy and not enough for Peter to be able to tell what’s real and what’s fake, whatever solid grasp he has on reality being muddled for how many times he’s been in the medbay-- even if this time around feels distinctly different, like he’s  _ intentionally _ being put under and can’t fight his way back to the top.

Peter can only hope, lost as he is to the whims of wherever his consciousness is taking him, that when he finally tunes back into whatever reality is, that it won’t be filled with the same pain and screams from before. 

* * *

_ Peter can hear scratching in the distance, soft and featherlight that he wonders if he can really call it scratching-- only for the sound of doors whooshing to distract him. _

_ Motor oil and black coffee come to mind, mingling in with the faintest hint of charcoal and strawberries. _

_ “Any change?” A voice calls out, rough and exhausted and deeply familiar as someone hums. _

_ “I think his nose itches,” a second voice says-- charcoal and strawberries and jasmine tea-- “he keeps wiggling it.” _

_ The first voice huffs out a laugh, Peter hearing the squeak of a chair as he says, “Messing with your muse?” _

_ “Nah,” the second voice says, filled with fondness and light and concern, “good to see it’s still him under all of that.” _

_ Peter doesn’t catch what the first voice says or if he even responds at all, a consistent beeping lulling him back into the deep. _

* * *

Eventually, Peter’s awareness of the passage of time becomes less like a radio frequency and more like a record player-- indeterminable bouts that feel endless when he’s in it only for it to come to a sudden stop.

He’s aware when Ned comes by, regaling him with stories about his physics lab.

He’s not aware when Ned leaves, or if he has at all, fading in and out of the conversation when Ned’s talking to MJ about the Mets game. 

He’s  _ sure _ that he’s not dreaming when he hears May humming a song under her breath, the clicking of knitting needles threatening to lull him back to sleep just as the beeping does.

What Peter isn’t sure of is how much time is passing, if any at all-- the more that he feels like he has some tangible grasp on reality, the more aware he is of how much  _ pain _ that he’s in.

It was gradual at first, little white-hot sparks of lightning across his arms, his legs, and his chest-- until it’s unbearable, as if his whole body is coming back to life in stages.

Anytime it starts to get too much, when he starts to  _ feel _ too much-- there’s voices and yelling and then an inexplicable coolness-- pulling him down back into a darkness that he doesn’t fear but welcomes, if only for the relief that it gives.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it, no way to keep tabs on how often or how little it keeps happening to him-- the only constant he has being a cycle of wakefulness, unimaginable pain and then nothing at all. 

It’s a cycle that Peter endures, over and over again-- until one day it seems as if the record stops.

He can feel the weight of the bandages across his chest and arms, can smell the antiseptic in the air and the relentless beeping that his mind is finally able to put together is a heart monitor.

The voices he hears are less muddled but are unfamiliar, shifting his head and immediately regretting it when the same cooling sensation from before starts to flood his system-- feeling his body start to relax as someone sighs in relief.

“Welcome back, Peter,” an unfamiliar voice says-- calm, authoritative, trust-- letting himself fall back into the darkness, though this time it feels not like falling but fading-- as if the next time he drifts back that’ll be just as if he’s fallen asleep.

Peter can only hope that that’s true as he fades back into the deep.

* * *

“...and  _ that’s _ how Happy ended up as my bodyguard,” Tony finishes, sitting back in the medbay room chair. He rubs tiredly at his eyes, takes a drink of water from the glass he’d brought in. “Y’know, kid, my throat is getting pretty scratchy. How about you wake up now, put us both out of our misery of listening to my boring stories?”

The words aren’t new—Tony had said a version of them at least once every fifteen minutes since he’d come in hours ago to relieve May—but the response is, Peter’s face twitching slightly as if he’d just smelled something bad.

Tony sits up, his fatigue suddenly gone. “Peter? You with me?”

The kid clumsily licks his lips before going still again, long enough for Tony to think it was yet another fakeout. Peter had done plenty of them over the last day, after all.

But then the miracle finally happens—Peter’s eyes blinking open, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before he glances around, gaze finally falling on Tony.

Tony grins. “Welcome back, underoos.”

Peter licks his lips again in clear request, and Tony doesn’t hesitate to gather some ice chips from the small bucket on the side table, carefully placing them in Peter’s mouth. 

“Just give it a few minutes before you try to speak. Your throat is still healing. Do you remember what happened?” Tony asks as Peter sucks on the ice, relieving his own parched throat. Peter’s brow scrunches, but Tony sees the exact moment it comes back to him. 

_ Fire?  _ he mouths around the ice, then,  _ Jimmy? _

“Jimmy’s perfectly fine and back with his mom,” Tony tells him. “You, however, were still in the building when the place collapsed. Still in the vent, even. What happened to  _ right behind you old man,  _ huh?”

Peter just shrugs, only to wince a bit at the way his still-healing skin tugs painfully. He lifts his head just high enough to look down at himself, then back up at Tony with clear curiosity and not a small hint of fear.

“You’re going to be okay,” Tony gently reassures him. “You were a pretty crispy spider when I pulled you out, but thankfully that’s all correcting itself. That healing factor of yours is even fixing the nerve damage.” He leans forward, putting a steadying hand on an unburned part of Peter’s forearm as he tells him the rest. “They did put you in an induced coma for the worst of it, though. You’ve been out for two weeks, bud.”

Peter’s eyes go wide before his gaze wanders, clearly trying to come to terms with the fact that two entire weeks of his life have gone by in the blink of an eye. He finishes chewing on his ice chips, clearing his throat before looking back at Tony.

“Two-Face?” he asks, raspy.

Tony cocks his head, confused. “Two-Face?”

“Do I look like Two-Face?” Peter asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Y’know, all—badass and gnarly.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “You literally  _ just  _ woke up from a coma and your first words are a comic book reference?”

Peter raises his eyebrows mischievously. “You were expecting anything else?”

Tony shakes his head, still guffawing. “No, you do not look like Two-Face. Your mask protected your head. The  _ gnarly _ injuries were saved for your limbs and chest, but that’s already mostly healed. It’s still going to hurt for a while and you’ll probably look like a lobster for another week or so, but that’s about it at this point.”

Peter nods. “Is May doing okay?”

Tony shrugs. “You know her. Cool as a cucumber in a crisis.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “but is she  _ okay _ ?”

“No point in sugar-coating things, I suppose,” Tony says with a sigh, before giving the kid a sad smile. “It was really close this time, Pete. You were clinically  _ dead _ when I finally got you here. And even once you were stable, the burns weren’t exactly easy to look at. May never wavered but, it wasn’t easy for her, or any of us.” At the guilty look in Peter’s eyes, he smiles more brightly, rubbing the kid’s arm with his thumb. “But the good news is that you’re going to be just fine. And I know she’ll be very glad to see you’re finally awake. If you can manage to keep those peepers open another ten minutes, that’s when she’s coming back to swap spider-sitting duties with me.”

Peter nods again, still looking grim but more accepting. Tony knows how much he hates the stress and worry he causes May, and the rest of them. It’s never been enough to make him less reckless or daring, but if there’s one thing Tony understands intimately, it’s that knowing you’re doing the right thing doesn’t necessarily make the collateral damage done to your loved ones easier to live with. 

“I really thought that was it for me,” Peter admits quietly. 

“Well, it wasn’t,” Tony reassures him, purposely not voicing that for a while there he’d also had the same terrifying fear. “Though next time you’re stuck in a tunnel, maybe make sure to double-check it’s the right kind of other side before you try to head out. None of that  _ go toward the white light  _ crap, you got me?”

Peter gives him a knowing smile. “Yeah. I got you.”

“Good.”

“You know,” Peter says conspiratorially after a few seconds, “I could really go for those gyros right about now.” His lip suddenly turns up as he adds, “Heya Tony, have I ever told you you’re my favorite  _ gyro _ ?”

“Hey now, you little thief,” Tony says with a frown, as he wags a finger at him, “Don’t go stealing my jokes. I don’t care if they’re bad, they belong to  _ me.” _

Peter laughs again, before his expression turns soft once more. “Thanks for everything, Tony.”

Tony raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Everything?”

Peter shrugs, still smiling. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Tony admits, smiling back at him. “I guess I do.”

  
  


* * *

Peter softly lands on the basketball court, smiling wide under the mask when he hears the excited chatter start to ramp up.

“Spidey!”

“Spider-Man’s back!”

“Dude, move! Let’s--”

“Good to see you, spidey,” one voice rings out above all the rest, Peter extending his hand out to do he and Carlos’ handshake. “Thought you were out for the count.”

“Nah, gonna take a little more than that to keep me down,” Peter says with a lightness that’s only half-affected, seeing a worry that Carlos is too young to have as Peter continues, “Besides, had to come back and defend my place as champ-- especially against some fourteen-year-old.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, another kid throwing the basketball to him and faking like he was gonna throw it to Peter-- only for Peter to laugh when Carlos says, “ _ Fifteen _ .”

“Okay big man,” Peter says, making a mental note to figure out just how long ago Carlos turned fifteen and how he could conceivably throw a belated birthday party here out on the court, “Let’s see if age brings wisdom.”

“You got it,” Carlos says, skipping backwards as he finally throws Peter the ball and starts calling the shots. 

As the kids scramble together, Peter dribbling the ball a few times-- he can’t help but be glad that he’s still out there, knowing that Carlos’ worry wasn’t completely unfounded.

Recovering from over half his body being burned had been brutal, enough that Peter tacitly avoids dwelling on it anymore than he has to. Almost a month in the medbay had Peter feeling like he wanted to crawl across the walls, literally and figuratively. It didn’t help that he had to take a leave of absence from school, hustling hard to make up on what he’d missed when he’d been out. 

It strikes Peter as funny now, to think back on the day of the fire-- avoiding homework and complaining of how little he had to do, MJ’s jokes that he should stop teasing the universe coming to mind. 

A message from Karen pops up then from MJ herself, asking if he wants pizza or dumplings for dinner. 

“Tell her pizza please,” Peter says under his breath as some of the kids start to huddle up, the friendly game of horse that he usually plays looking like it was gonna be seven-to-one, “And that I’ll be at Ned’s in about an hour or two.”

“Certainly,” Karen replies as the kids swarm, Peter laughing as he does a flip over a few of them-- hearing some of them complain as he dribbles the ball.

“Hey, no cheating!”

“Come on guys, seven to one and you’re gonna tell me-- _ oof _ ,” Peter gets cut off by a smaller kid all but body-slamming into his hip, Peter turning to face who it is only for his features to soften when he recognizes him.

“Hi,” Jimmy says, glomming onto Peter in a way that’s so similar to how he had back in that damn vent that it twists at something in Peter’s insides-- turning to him before gently throwing the ball to another kid so he can hug Jimmy properly.

“Hey buddy, how’re you?” Peter asks, letting Jimmy hug him for as long as he wants before he feels his arms relax-- kneeling down to his level as Jimmy smiles.

“Good. Mom got me blackberry pie yesterday,” he says with a grin, Peter smiling underneath the mask and seeing that Jimmy’s missing one of his front teeth now-- infinitely thankful that he’d made it his mission to get to know the kids of this neighborhood.

He dreads the thought of what could’ve happened in that shitty fire if he hadn’t, squashing that thought away as he focuses his attention back on Jimmy and says, “That’s awesome, kiddo.”

“You think-- I mean, can we get--” Jimmy begins, Peter nodding as he moves to a stand and turns to Carlos and the rest of the kids there.

“Sorry guys, I’ll come back in a while. Jimmy and I got some business to take care of.”

“What kind of business?” Carlos asks incredulously, Peter laughing as he waves a hand. “Can we come too?”

“You turn fifteen and lose your manners? Come on man, I know your dad taught you better than that.”

Carlos rolls his eyes again, Peter obliging as he says, “I was actually thinking we could go get some ice cream…”

Jimmy predictably breaks out into excited squeals, Karen already planning out a route to the closest ice cream shop as Peter takes his hand. 

“Come on buddy, let’s go,” Peter says to Jimmy who's beaming, turning back to Carlos as he asks, “You guys coming?”

Carlos grins, looking more like the kid Peter recognizes as he turns to see his friends nod excitedly then says, “Hell yeah, let’s go. But-- you sure you can afford all of us? You got that Stark money, right?”

“You know it. Might as well use it for good, right?” Peter says as Carlos laughs with him, another thing that Peter can take some comfort in as he leads the group to the ice cream shop. 

For all the good that Spider-Man-- and Peter Parker-- tries to do, there was the truth that Peter couldn’t shake that money helped,  _ money _ being the thing that finally got the landlord of that shitty apartment building into actually facing criminal charges-- Tony himself personally funding accommodations for the residents of the apartment building and proclaiming that he’d bought some new developments for the express purpose of helping said residents out. 

Peter couldn’t lie and say it didn’t bother him, the fact that the money and words of billionaires mattered more than the voices of the people who lived and breathed in Queens-- but it is what it is, making peace with the fact that even if Tony’s money may have helped save the day that it was this-- living and working with people just like him-- that helped make what  _ he  _ did all the more fulfilling. 

Peter couldn’t change the world, but as he walks down the sidewalk he’s content with the knowledge that he doesn’t need to-- hand in hand with a little boy who wouldn’t be alive today if he’d been too far off the ground. 

“It’s good to have you back, spidey,” Carlos says as they walk together, hearing the earnestness in his voice as Peter grins-- throwing his free hand around his shoulder. 

“Good to be back,” Peter replies, soaking in the joy of being there with them and doing what he does best-- 

Being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, one that no matter what comes along still makes time to hang out with and check in on the kids who, not all that long ago, he’d been just like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief descriptions of a child in danger and suffering first-degree burns. Description of third-degree burns to an adult. Peter and Tony’s bad jokes.
> 
> Also, just a note from all four of us to say thank you to everyone who has read and commented this month. This project has been a real labor of love for us, and your support has meant so much! 
> 
> ‘Til next time,
> 
> solkillerseeksak

**Author's Note:**

> Save an author, post a comment! 
> 
> Tumblrs:  
> [killerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com/)  
> [S0lstice](https://midsommersolstice.tumblr.com/)  
> [seekrest](https://pursue-solitude.tumblr.com/)  
> [blondsak](https://blondsak.tumblr.com)


End file.
